


This Heart

by hightechzombie



Category: Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs, Dishonored
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Mutilation, im not even sure what other warning to put here, well there is a lot of stuff going on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1333915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hightechzombie/pseuds/hightechzombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mandus a ruined industrialist and a father. Corvo is an assassin, blessed with Outsider's mark and hiding behind Death's mask. </p><p>The Machine is the twisted underground factory that Mandus dedicated himself to. Now this place is his only hope to escape the assassin on his heels and to save his children.</p><p>----- </p><p>One could say, that every heart is a machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No knowledge of Machine for Pigs needed to understand this fanfic.

One can say, that every heart is a machine.

Two chambers that lie side by side, but their blood does not intermingle, except when it has gone full circle through the entire body. Each chamber has two valves - an entry and exit door, so to say. Particularly the valves are an excellent design. It is impossible for blood to go back the way it came from, as the valves allow only the flow into direction. I have showed you the valves at our factory, do you remember? It is just like that, except made from flesh rather than metal.

Full circle, indeed. We learn from nature and one day nature will learn from us.

*** 

Dunwall is built on hard rock, but with the river winding through most of the city, even the rock cannot prevent water flooding the cellars. This is why everyone built up in the air, having used up almost every free space in this booming city. But this factory was different. Even lying sprawled along the riverside, massive complexes with worker housing and factory-owned stores - there was not enough room on the surface to house all of it.

The blood from the butchering houses flowed down the drains, the blubber was pumped down through pipes and the workers went where work awaited them. The factory's guts were deep and twisted and nobody how deep they went. Oswald Mandus laughed when people kept asking this question.

Nobody has heard him laugh in a long while. One day the invitations to his grandiose fantastic dinners stopped coming and letters of concern were left unanswered. The plague had hit everyone, and hit hard, but it was still a surprise.

Two weeks after the Empress died, the factory was shut and the workers sent home. Such was the story of many businesses in these black days, but no closure before had left so many people wandering the streets.

Then, four months later, the factory came back to life. No worker was rehired. No goods were sold. But the chimneys smoked and street urchins would swear, that in the sewers you could hear ol' Oswald's machines pumping and heaving.

The few workers, that still lived and were not weeping, rarely talked about their former work. If they did talk, then in bursts and never brought it up again. But the rest, that never saw the factory from inside out, wouldn't stop chattering. It's just a slaughterhouse, muttered the pragmatic. It's haunted, breathed out the superstitious. But everyone agreed, that Mandus' Meathouses were built on rock, on blood and secrets.

*** 

Broken windows, scrawled curses on the walls. One of the gangs - or more than one - must have been here before. Stripped as much as they could, half-heartedly vandalised the factory and left. This place could have been a good hideout, why not stay?

Corvo leaned closer to the chimney, tightening his grasp, as the wind lashed out at him. He had to be careful, the rooftops were still slippery from today's rain. It would be wiser to take the alleys - after all, the grounds were deserted. Clenching his fingers in a fist, estimating the distance and finally making a mental effort, Corvo landed on cobblestones and rubbish. As disorienting this ability was, it never failed to pleasantly thrill him.

How curious still. This place, this man, Mandus, was special, that Corvo knew from the beginning... but usually he guess what their deal was.

High-pitched squealing in the distance, sounds of small claws scraping and scuddling. Whatever forbid people from entering this place, it certainly did not apply to rats. It never does. Corvo touched his mask for some reason, checking whether it was there - it always was - and whether it needed readjusting - it never did.

This gesture, he needed to stop doing that.

Corvo located the offices first. Shipments needed to be recorded and there had to be some sort of map. Maybe even keys, although that was doubtful.

It was getting colder by the day in Dunwall. Corvo barely felt his fingers as he climbed through the broken window, and once inside he took a few moments to knead his hands. It should be spring soon. It almost felt like spring, when he brought Emily to the Loyalists' hideout.

But nothing lasts. Corvo found it harder and harder to ignore the cold.

The offices were rampaged and most drawers empty. But map though was on its place, although Corvo found it unpleasantly vague. Regardless, Corvo cut it from the frame on the wall and attached to his belt. He'd need every help in this maze of a fabric.

After that was done, Corvo was still as lost as before, as to how enter the underground tunnels without a key. He'd need to consult a old friend...

Quietly he bent over, listening to small paws on wooden floor. As soon as the rat slipped from underneath the bookshelf, Corvo grabbed it and efficiently broke its neck. The body was warm and small in his hands.

He gently turned the rat to face him and stared into the blackdrops of his eyes. Black and pure, soft murmur of the Void and then blue waves crashed together inside Corvo's mind. The rat spasmed with the whole body, and awakened with new conscience. Corvo saw his mask mirrored by this tiny extension of himself.

After he put it down, the rat sniffed and hurried away on its task. Corvo sought out a chair and sat down. His dead-living piece was searching for keys, for sewers and hints how to approach Mandus's puzzle. On the way there, the rat will find others, bite them and pass on its gift. One it will become ten. Ten will become twenty. Then... maybe even more.

Being splintered in many parts was dizzying. Corvo tried to make himself comfortable and then closed his eyes. The picture of the office was useless, and he saw enough through the other eyes.

***

The whale oil lamp sizzled, its light flickering for a second. But the flame steadied itself and bathed the desk in green light. People were more productive, when surrounded with the colour green. Wasn't that the result of one of his studies?

By the Outsider, his neck was killing him. How long had he been sleeping at his desk?

Mandus shook his head and rested his fingers against the eyes for a few moments. Then he stood up and, suddenly swaying, steadied himself at this desk. Was he running a fever? This was no time for being sick, he had so much to do. There had to be some medicine in the bathroom and, making several steps towards it, Mandus realized with disgust, that he stopped into something wet and sticky.

Turned out to be wine. The empty bottle was nearby and thus the mystery of the aching head was bloody solved. A moment of weakness yesterday was all that was necessary, it seemed. No wonder memories of the evening were somewhat fuzzy.

"Sylvia," shouted Mandus, "come into my study."

No sound of hurrying footsteps, no answer. What hour was it? Was the maid asleep?

Mandus stepped close to the window and peeked through the gap between the curtains. It was day. Even the gloomy light was too bright for his taste and he blinked several times. The streets were dirty, wet and covered in rubbish. Mandus frowned.

Something odd, a movement on the horizon caught his eye. A moving figure on one of the factories roofs. Another impudent climber? By the Outsider, those urchins were as restless as stupid! Cleaning a body from the cobblestones was more work than was worth it.

Figure stopped near the smoking chimney, then raised itself to full height. Tall, much taller than expected. The wind tore at his cloak. The man was on the look-out, turning his head to the right and to the left, then finally facing Mandus.

No features. No eyes. Black face, bare like bone. The sight send chills down Mandus's spine and he involuntarily stepped back.

When he approached the window again, the smoke obscured sight and the figure was gone. Climbed down on the other side, most likely. Still, a discomforting sight. A thief, a ruffian, a madman running around on his grounds? He needed to alert the guards.

The fright the stranger gave him. What did he do, cover his face in ash like a primitive tribal? Maybe it was just a prankster in a cheap mask. But the silence was disquieting and Mandus felt the need for human presence, even be that of a servant.

The thick carpet muffled his steps as Mandus traversed the corridor. Nobody answered to his bellows. Walking down the creaking stairs, Mandus was met with silence again. Did he dismiss the servants for today? Mandus could barely remember.

Strolling through the house, Mandus remarked that everything seemed in order. The food was on the table, though cold. Many rooms were lit and clean. But nothing moved except for himself.

Where were his children? Hiding from him too, giggling behind the cardboard walls?

Lights blinked and failed. Darkness fell, and Mandus could hear in the distance the fading up hum of the generator. Damn it. A house powered by central generator was coupled with as many advantages as disadvantages. Efficient, much less whale oil consumption than with standard lamps, yet if it goes down, so does everything else.

Mandus had to restart the generator himself, since no one else was around. At the time of the blackout, he was thankfully in the small corridor between the kitchen and the servants' room. He found candles in the kitchen drawers and lit them with his cigar lighter. But candles were only a temporary solution and it would be unwise trying to bring open fire to any machinery driven by whale oil.

In flickering candlelight, Mandus rummaged through the nearby closet, until he found a portable lamp. An older version than he was comfortable with, but fully functioning and even with some oil left in it. The bluish flame illuminated closet much brighter than any candle could.

Feeling more self assured, Mandus descended into the musty cellar. The latch was heavy and fell after him. No matter, no matter...

The first layer of his cellar was the oldest, made from blocks of solid stone. Only few adjustments needed to be made to integrate this place into the metal corridors of his underground fabric. Mandus knew this place as good as his back of a hand, but even if he did not, all he'd have to was to follow the cables attached to the ceiling.

The generator room was faintly illuminated by the couple whale oil tanks sitting in the corner. Before approaching the apparatus, Mandus took a few moments to refuel his lantern. He wouldn't want to suddenly find himself in the dark while fixing potentially dangerous machinery.

After that was done, he took the tools from the nearby shelves and carefully unscrewed the metal plate from the side of the generator. The stench, that came from it, made his lip crawl and Mandus took a pair of pliers to remove the rat's body from the machine. It was dripping with blood, its tail shredded to pieces.

Removing the worst mess inside with a rag, Mandus soon identified the problem. The vermin has chewed and clawed at the cables, damaging some of them, and also managed in its tantrum to push the oil tank out of its socket. Putting it back in its place was no problem, but the cables required some fiddling.

Measuring, cutting and replacing the cables was menial work that nevertheless required care and his full attention. Mandus paid no heed to the stale air and the sweet smell of rot coming from the corner of the room. Didn't listen to machines clanging, huffing and turning in the distance, nor to the wind sweeping through the tunnels.

Focused at his task, Mandus finished quickly. Flipping the switch, he heard the increasingly loud hum of the generator until the noise became deafening. The light bulb overhead came hesitatingly to life and Mandus, feeling satisfied, turned off his lantern.

He had to return upstairs and find his children. It was not wise to leave them alone for so long.

The way back Mandus spent pondering on the mystery of the quiet house, dirty grounds and vanished servants. These thoughts left him with a feeling of uneasiness, but he kept picking at the mental scab. The explanation was buried in yesterday's evening, he was sure of it. But his memories evaded his grasp like fish in a quick stream.

Mandus turned his head, when he heard a noise and then stopped in his tracks. A small arm emerged from darkness of the side tunnel and beckoned him. Enoch's sheepish smile was behind it.

"Daddy, come on! We have to hide."

"Enoch! Is Edwin with you? I told you to _stay out of the cellar!_ "

"But Daddy, we had to hide! Come on, Daddy!" His eyes were wide and begging. A short moment later, his head jerked as if hearing something. Expression changing, the boy turned and ran.

Mandus uttered some mix between Enoch's name and a curse, and followed with haste. His son's footsteps were light and hard to discern, and of course he was youthful and fast unlike his father. A pebble, thrown back by Enoch's foot, a sharp breath and his white hands in the dark - these things Mandus followed like breadcrumbs. He tried his best to keep up lest he wanted to lose his child in the labyrinth of a cellar.

Breathing fast Mandus stumbled into the next tunnel and found a dead end. Stepping back to the crossroads, Mandus tried to quiet his fast breathing and to listen, yet to no avail. Enoch was gone.

But wait. Something in the distance, although it did not really sound like footsteps. The sound had a scratchy quality to it. As the noise approached, Mandus stepped back into the dead end tunnel, feeling awfully vulnerable in the open. He chose not to light the lantern. The darkness shall hide him.

The sound grew louder, then quieter as if moving away, but then much much closer. Mandus made several steps backwards until the wooden wall touched his shoulders.

Finally, a shriek squeal announced the horde's arrival. The black twitching mass scurried past Mandus hideout and even from the distance their hideous stench reached him. Those were rats, twenty, thirty at least! In _his_ cellar!

Oh no, no, no. By the Outsider, Edwin and Enoch were playing out there!

He knew too well what rats did to bodies. Dead or alive, it did not matter. Rats eat all, even if its twitching and screaming. Mandus stumbled out of the tunnel and began running.

Mandus whispered and hissed for his children. Even turned on the lantern, hoping it would draw Edwin and Enoch out and not daring to think what else the light would attract in the dark. He crossed the tunnels, listening and avoiding the rat swarm as best as he could. His knees were shaking and soon Mandus had to admit that he was lost. He knew this place by heart, but the dark and panic transformed the tunnels into a nightmarish maze.

He was lost, but still did not stop searching. Not until the oil ran out and then, standing in total darkness, Mandus felt despair clutching at his heart. No, no. The air was like stale muddy waters, like tendrils of darkness lapping at his lungs. It was harder to breath. Mandus leaned on the wall, then slipped to the floor. Not his children. If he found their bodies mutilated, eyes ripped out and flesh all gone - he would go mad. Truly.

The ringing snapped him out. Mandus looked up and found, that the darkness was not as complete as he thought. The stones at the end of the tunnel reflected faint light and the ringing, it wouldn't stop. Mandus fumbled and stood up with new strength. He walked slowly towards the source of noise and found - a door.

Slowly opening it, he remembered. This used to belong to the engineering assistant, when the factory was still young and expanding. The sketches were stored here and together with Mandus the Nixon fella helped revise their ambitious plans from time to time. What happened to the poor man was regrettable.

The phone near the desk kept ringing. Mandus approached and placed his fingers around the handle, suddenly hesitating. Who had chosen to phone this abandoned office? Who'd even still know how to select it? It was taken off all official registers.

But there was a human on the other line. Someone else to share this madness. Mandus took the phone handle and put it close to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Mandus." The voice was deep and raspy. "You will have to hurry."

"Who am I talking with?"

"The assassin is coming for you and the doors of your mansion will not hold him. You need to go heart of the Machine, Mandus. It is your only salvation."

"Why, what are you even telling me? Am I supposed to believe your..?"

"You've seen him. He stalks your grounds to find a spot where he will force his blade. Your children have seen him, too, and ran in terror. It is the only reason they have escaped his cruel hands. But Mandus," the voice descended to a whisper, "the assassin saw your children just as well."

Mandus grasped for objections, sought to dispel the absurd claim, to pose further inquisitive questions, but it was as if someone put a sling around his throat. His next words were raw and hoarse.

"He will not have them."

"Then do as I say, my old friend. Your children are climbing down and you will follow. You have to hurry, Mandus! Find the heart of the Machine or death will find you."

***

Corvo waded through blood. For once quite literally.

The rats found many ways in, but the most promising turned out to be once again the most obvious: the sewers. Yet, their help was invaluable. It took many drowned rats to find a shallow path and even more were fed to the crushing turbines. He carried a few rat corpses with himself even now. The rats avoided the deeper sections of the factory for some reason and Corvo did not wish to be blind in the place, where the danger was most present.

The surface of the red-brown liquid was covered in white blobs of fat, like boils on sickly skin. The stench was hard to describe even for him, a man that had crawled out of pile of corpses in the Drowned District. The walls were slimy and the ceiling kept dropping things that Corvo did not wish to identify. It was like the entirety of Dunwall shitted and vomited up blood to fill these sewers.

Corvo suppressed the nausea and ignored the disgust. This was just animal waste. The true cruelty will lie ahead.

Mandus' Meathouses. Corvo had begun suspecting the worst by now. Was Oswald Mandus a murderer, a rapist or child molester, maybe cannibal? Either way, the city is full with all of the above. Why Mandus?

There had to be another reason. Outsider gave him his name as a solution to what troubled him. But so far, Corvo only saw the potential how it would drag his soul through even more human filth and death. What he went through before, was it not enough already?

Corvo vividly imagined how the Outsider would smile and mouth silently a resolute "No".

Not enough, Corvo. Drink your medicine, especially the bitter parts at the bottom. Even if it makes you vomit and twists your innards, even if blood colours your spit with red.

Drink it all. Maybe you will understand, maybe not.


	2. Chapter 2

_Audiograph recording, 7th of Month of  Seeds. Six months before the Empress's death._

  
They have sent a _Nanny_ to watch me. Was is the old bitch Jessamine, who decided to meddle in my affairs, or was it the doing of the High Overseer? Either way, I should be glad that they were at least polite enough to send someone from the Natural Academy... instead of a full-fledged Overseer. This is an insult, but a veiled one.

I have no choice, but to be the most gracious and forth-coming housekeeper. I will show him my factory and maybe open my guest's eyes... perhaps open much wider than he can bear. Enlightenment should the highest goal of every natural philosopher after all.

He will prefer ignorance in the end. They all do.

*** 

There was no doubt anymore. Corvo heard sounds of a church organ in the distance, however improbable that was.

He left the sewers just in time. The water level began to rise, most likely due to rainfall. Corvo was glad to feel hard stone under his feet, although his clothes were now stained and the sewer stench should follow him for a long time. At least no return the way he came from. One could only feel glad about that.

Whether his cold clingy clothes or the ghost organ made his neck hair stand up, Corvo could not tell. He drew the blade and sneaked through the tunnels, finding more often than not a dead-end. It took time to finally reach the massive hall from which the sound originated.

The music vibrated in his bones. The volume was overwhelming, like a voice shouting you down and celebrating your fall. Corvo stood up in full height under the vast ceiling. The benches were neatly lined up to the left and the right.

An underground church. Dedicated to no religion or cult Corvo was familiar with.

Slowly he walked forward, studying the murals illuminated by lamps. A pig standing on two legs and herding its own kind. A pig holding her piglet to the teats. An giant pig impaling a whale. Small piglets feasting on the whale corpse.

What lay on the holy altar was more pig. This time in flesh, in real rotting flesh and with glazed over eyes.

Blasphemy, whispered something inside Corvo. It was ridiculous of course - was Corvo not a heretic himself? A chosen tool of the Outsider, marked by him and forever lost to the Overseer faith?

And yet, this was blasphemy. How did the Overseers not know? Was Mandus's influence that high, was his cult that much devoted that no word got out?

Mercifully, the organ slowed down and went silent. Corvo would not have endured its voice for much longer.

In the distance, he heard a shrill squeal. Not rat, but pig.

Corvo turned around and snapped out his blade. His blood was pumping and he tried to decipher what moved in the darkness. Nothing, actually. Nothing so far. Corvo kept facing the exit as he moved sideways and then hid behind the altar. Observe, hide, then strike. Corvo never considered his tactics cowardish, although he did not deny that at the moment he did feel a pang of fear.

Corvo listened, waited. He had been graced with powers that allowed him to see through stone, but the thicker the walls the less effective it was. Either way, it felt like turning your eyes outside out and in last days this power hurt more than usual. He did not use it unless absolutely necessary.

Besides, it was just a pig. It may be natural for a Pig Church to have pigs nearby, probably in cages. But Corvo's instincts said to stay hidden and each time Corvo did not listen to his instincts... each time he had paid a price.

The pig carcass stank and flies buzzed around it, from time to time landing on Corvo. He remained a motionless statue.

Footsteps. Heavy clacking footsteps resonated from somewhere deep. They were slow and took a long while for the man show himself. Finally a silhouette of a fat man in a hood appeared in the doorway.

When it moved into the light, Corvo saw a snout. The man-pig looked around.

Corvo's hand tightened around the blade, but he made no sound. What in the Void...

The creature walked forward, occasionally sniffing noisily and grunting. It stopped a few metres before the altar. Corvo could feel its animal smell from there. He clenched his fist, preparing to blink away if needed.

The pig went on all four, facing the ground. It did not move for a long time. Corvo studied the glimpses of it in the gloom of the church, trying to understand. Was this Mandus's crime? Forming pigs to become humans?

The pig shifted and grunted quietly.

"The Pig's eyes do not wander for they are fixed on food, sleep and work," said a male voice clearly. "Thus, the Wandering Gaze was blinded."

Corvo stared at the man-pig. Its voice was articulate, even pleasant. Did it really come from him?

"The Pig's tongue does not lie for it rests easy in its mouth. Thus the Lying Tongue was tied."

A pause. Corvo carefully leaned closer to the ground, trying to look at the man's face. Maybe it just looked deformed. Hard to tell in this lightning.

"The Pig's hands are always working for they are bound to tools. Thus the Restless Hands were forced to labour."

The man paused again. He began sniffing the ground and licked the stone with a wet sound. Corvo saw that its snout was clearly pig.

"The Pig's feet are rarely moving for they are caged. Thus the Roving Feet were tamed."

The creature twitched and scratched its hindquarters.

"The Pig's bowels are often empty for they bleed from food. Thus the Rampant Hunger was sated."

Suddenly it started squealing, like a trapped animal in pain. Corvo's ears rang from the shrill sounds. The pig shuddered on the ground until its squeals became quieter. The next words were not as calm as before, like the man-pig was out of breath.

"The Pig's loins are torn from flesh for they were undeserved. Thus the Wanton Flesh was killed."

The pause after that was the longest. The man-pig swayed lightly back-and-forth without any sound. Corvo tried remembering the last Scripture. He never was religious.

But it came to him: the Errant Mind.

"The Pig's thoughts..." started the man-pig hesitatingly, "the Pig's thoughts are... no, were. They were straying. Lost. The thoughts were lost. No..."

The creature breathed heavily, then suddenly started pounding the ground with his fists. Even in its rage it remained silent. A few minutes later the skin on its fists split and drops of blood flew in all directions. Some drops landed on Corvo.

Eventually it grew tired.

"The bastard," stated the man-pig calmly, "the son of a bitch."

Corvo's thoughts raced and decided to do it. This moment of lucidity might pass soon and Corvo had to make use of it. This person had answers for him.

Hiding the blade and stepping to the left, Corvo said something that did not matter. It did not matter, because the pig raised its head hearing the footstep and the following squeal left the words Corvo said unheard. The squeal was angry and the creature stood up, baring yellow teeth. Corvo stepped back and raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

The man-pig turned and scrambled for the exit. It fell on the way there, but kept running on all four.

Corvo did not follow. The last thing which he saw, was the white glistening thing hanging from man-pig's back.

It was an Overseer's mask.

***  

_Audiograph recording Twelfth of Month of Earth. Five months before the Empress's death._

"But I am afraid I still do not understand, my dear Mandus. It is absolutely clear, that whale oil..."

"Yes, yes, you do not have to repeat yourself, Professor. Whale oil is irreplaceable, the life-blood of Dunwall and the list goes on - but I do not care for it! Why Professor, why do you think I can't bring myself to care? Am I that stupid?"

Sound of a shifting chair. The other voice answers with slight annoyance.

"Of course not. Your machinery is..."

"... without comparison. I know. But the difference between both of us, Professor, is that you look into the present while I look into the future. I am a man of the industry! I have to be a visionary to survive! The whale has sustained Dunwall for some time, but its time will pass in due time. Whales have never faced a predator like our species and will inevitably perish."  
  
"Ah, I heard those theories, but I am afraid it is a ludicrous claim. There are thousands, hundreds of thousands of those beasts lurking in the depths of the ocean. We cannot possibly catch all, for they readily retreat into their domain, and their numbers are far too high. Dunwall cannot exterminate them just as a single man cannot drink up the ocean."

"You underestimate our bloodlust, professor. How many hundreds die each year in our gutting houses? How many more will die as the city grows and expands, and as other cities join on our hunt? The whale will die. It is time to turn to the pig. My machine will prepare for its arrival."

"Dear Mandus, I highly respect your vision - I sincerely do! -, but there are surely not enough pigs in the whole of Gristol to feed the appetite of such a machine!"

"That all rather depends, Professor, on what one considers to be a pig."

***  

What a mad chase, what a mad day. Mandus left his watch on the table and did not even know, whether it was nighttime when he fell asleep. He kept going down, traded the stone walls of the cellar for metal tunnels of his factory. Hunted for keys in the empty office rooms, wrangled with dysfunctional machinery to be allowed to pass further.

It was a struggle from beginning to the end. Exhausted, Mandus finally allowed his body to rest in a small sideways tunnel. It was uncomfortable and cold, but the entry to this place could be cleverly obstructed with empty crates. Nobody would find him here.

In this journey down, the lantern was his constant companion. So was the darkness, lurking on the edges.

Mandus kept waking from sleep and looking around madly. He hit his head more than once against the grates of the ventilation shaft near his head. But even fear of the dark couldn't keep him awake for long. At least he didn't have nightmares. At least, one couldn't call those dreams nightmares

Humid air, rich with the scents of earth and rotting leaves. Bursts of laughter in the distance. Edwin and Enoch did not seem to care for heat, nor did the wildlife in Pandyssia scare them all too much. Mandus had the workers supervise them and promised them whipped if they ever lost sight of his children.

He stood infront an ancient temple. The entrance was laid open and filled with dark. Cold drafts tugged at his clothing. His children's voices were like a bird's singsong.

Mandus did not want to go in. Not yet. His children's laughter was so sweet and he longed so much to stay.

He'd have to go in eventually. Something of great importance was inside.

With that realization, with the scent of the jungle in his nostrils and the heat on his skin, Mandus woke up. Something brushed through his hair.

Mandus was too tired to be startled. He looked up and saw a hand coming from the ventilation shaft. It was Edwin, awkwardly caressing his father's hair and murmuring something under his breath.

Mandus sat up straight and grasped for his arm. His sleep-tied tongue wouldn't really let any words come out, so he just stared at his son.

As for Edwin, he beamed and turned around to poke someone. Soon Enoch's face appeared too, pressed against the grates.

"Daddy! You woke up."

"We've been holding watch," explained Edwin. He freed his hand and stroked through his father's hair again, "and we didn't want to wake you yet."

"You should have," said Mandus, as if something was choking him. "You should have woken me up as soon as you arrived."

Edwin and Enoch half-heartedly shrugged in a way so similar and so familiar. At least their smiles were different: Enoch's smile was apologetic, while Edwin's was a bit cheeky. Mandus wished he could hug them hard and never let them go.

"Can you come out from there? I need you to join me and then we will go to the centre of the factory," said Mandus. "It's the only way to be safe."

Edwin bit his lip while Enoch shook his head and said:

"We can't. This ventilation system is very complicated. Besides, we really shouldn't stay together."

Mandus opened his mouth to protest, but Edwin hurried to explain.

"Daddy, we are small. We fit in places where you can't. And we are very good at hide-and-seek. It's for the best, honestly! You have to believe us. "

"Edwin, Enoch... this is... not a good idea. There's a man in here and he'll do bad things if he finds you!"

"Yes, Daddy," said Edwin solemnly. "That's why he won't find us."

"You don't understand! We have to stay together!"

"Daddy," said Enoch, "but if he's a bad man, he'd kill you too. He had a blade and a pistol. You don't have either."

"I'll find some."

"Daddy, don't," intervened Edwin. "You hide, we hide. We'll slip behind his back and meet at the factory's heart. Please."

Mandus breathed heavily.

"I won't survive if anything happens to you."

"That's why it won't," said Edwin quietly. "Our plan, alright?"

"Alright," whispered Mandus. "Just look after each other. Be careful."

Both nodded energetically. Then Enoch punched Edwin lightly in the shoulder and whispered something to him. Edwin quickly turned around to go through his possessions. When he emerged back, he had a red flask in his hand.

"Here," Edwin pushed the flask into Mandus' hand.

That was Sokolov's antidote against the plague. Mandus had forgotten to take his dose today.

"What about you?"

"We have one too," said Enoch and waved cheerily a second flask. "Children don't need to drink as much as adults. Half for me, half for Edwin will do."

Mandus shook his head and gave the flask back. Edwin wouldn't take it, so he just placed the flask on the bottom of the shaft.

"This place is very dirty and full of disease. I need you both to drink a full flask. No objections. I have drank mine today and don't need it anymore."

His children protested, but Mandus raised his voice.

"I said _no objections_."

Both sulked, but Mandus knew they would do as he said. He softened his voice.

"Please be careful. Remember, stay together and find the centre of the machine. There are maps in each office. You'll work it out, won't you?"

Enoch nodded and tapped against his pocket.

"I have a map too. We'll find it."

Edwin looked up, as if suddenly remembering something.

"Daddy, there is a distillery nearby! We took what potions were left, but there were plenty of plants and stuff in the boxes. You can make your own elixir with that. Right?"

"Yes, Edwin, I will. Thank you."

His children smiled at him. Mandus enjoyed the sight for a few seconds, then sighed and stood up.

"We'd better keep moving. I will find the distillery at first, then go downwards. You should go ahead. Never wait for me."

"Yes, Daddy," said Enoch and Edwin in singsong.

"Goodbye." Mandus took their hands and kissed each. The children ruffled their father's hair in a synchronized motion.

Mandus slowly walked away as Edwin and Enoch waved farewell to him. They looked so much like tiny birds in a cage, flapping their wings. It's not the last time, I am seeing them, reminded Mandus himself. We'll meet again in the heart of the machine.

***  

There rooms near the church were indeed full of caged pigs. All were dead and Corvo was no closer to understanding how this all worked.

Scouting the tunnels, he had come up with a few theories, obviously. Neither sounded plausible and every single sounded nightmarish. Corvo tried to stop dwelling on it, since imagining grizzly details was just as useless as it was upsetting.

But the former Overseer's figure kept haunting him. What horrible fate. Would Corvo act the same he did if was turned into one of those? Would he grunt and squeal while singing praise to the Outsider, eat rats raw and lick clean the whalebone runes?

What a shithole. It said a lot about Corvo's situation that this was the only place where he could hope to make things better.

*** 

Mandus thought he heard a rat when he shattered his second vial. At least this time it was empty. Mandus cursed and stepped over the shards, trying to calm his breathing. The longer he was in here, the jumpier he became.

The glass tanks were obscuring his sight and the sound of water drops was distracting. Mandus tried to focus, measuring the milligrams of foil grass and adding oil to it. After heating it on a low flame, one waited for the grass from blue to become dark-orange and then let it cool down to room-temperature. After that, adding the River Crust extract and low-percentage alcohol.

Of course there were some smaller amounts of minerals to be added here and there, but this was mostly the whole procedure. The only reason Sokolov charged his outrageous prices was because of the River Crust. Mandus had with good reason installed his own manufactory since it was much cheaper - and besides, he always preferred staying in control of his supply.

He made three bottles. Mandus drank the first one the spot, with shaking hands. A wave of relief washed over him. The plague was not an enemy to trifle with. It did not care about who you were and what sort of money you possessed. It came for everyone... unless you drank your potions in time.

Suddenly Mandus could remember, where the servants went. He heard one of them cough and since neither would admit who it was, Mandus simply dismissed all of them. He couldn't have plague carriers around his children. They were shocked of course, since it was so much unlike master Mandus, but this was the only way to be sure.

Mandus also recalled that yesterday, in the generator room, he came in contact a dead rat. The body smelled as horrible as the plague. Mandus did not drink any potion that day either.

Uncorking the bottle, Mandus gulped down the second elixir. Twice the dosis in case of doubt, that's what the Doctor said.

Right now, Mandus doubted everything including his senses. He would pay any price to buy a peace of mind.

*** 

_Audigraph recording Twenty First of Month of Clans. Three months before the Empress's death._

"Professor, you have been quiet. Pondering on latest revelation, no doubt?"

"What? Yes, indeed... I have."

A hearty chuckle and the clinking of glasses.

"Here. Good whiskey, something to get the chill out of the bones."

"Thank you."

Silence.

"Do not fret to ask questions! I am sure you must have many, especially about the process."

"Yes... I do have a question. Why?"

"Ah, you went for the most loaded one. There are many reasons."

Sound of footsteps on wooden floor and a man talking excitedly.

"For one, efficiency. The pig does not need much sleep and eats everything you give it. Intelligent enough to handle uncomplicated tasks, but asks for no pay."

"Second, elevation. The pig is perfect. Of course, your turn, Professor, to ask me why I make this bold..."

"Perfect? It is a dirty creature that stays in mud its whole life and the fact that you dare to imply elevation from human to pig!"

"Now, now, Professor. Hear me out. There are plenty of so-called "humans" that stay in mud for their whole life as well. They are born in dirt, live and die there. They fill the pubs and suck at tits like animals. Fornicate and die, fornicate and die, fornicate and die! Create nothing! Do nothing! Account for nothing!"

The man stopped going back-and-forth.

"At least, the pig does not kill. The pig gives its meat back when it dies. What excuse does the pig on two legs have?"

A man puts down his whiskey glass on the table. Which man, impossible to say.

"Therefore, when I say elevation, I mean it. The Seven Scriptures speak of how to protect the souls from the Outsider, but the pig is sainted! It does not fear the Outsider, because the Outsider cannot tempt it. The pig desires nothing. It is the perfect being."

"But like that? In this form?"

"Yes, Professor. In this form."

"But the subject... did it give its consent? I doubt it, I sincerely doubt it, Mandus!"

"You are quite right, Professor. The subject was in no position to give consent. With blood coming from eyes, it was a ruined thing. But here is the final advantage of the pig, professor. Unlike the human, the pig does not weep."


	3. Chapter 3

_Audigraph recording 8th of Month of Nets. Seven months before the death of the Empress._

 

I cannot say I reinvented the wheel, as most of mechanisms were indeed imported from the Academy of Natural Philosophy. What I can claim, is that my Machine was an innovation in many other fields. A most wonderful example of how the machines can replace the human labour, but also how several processes can be bundled into one.

Let us examine the problem of waste. Death is a dirty business, gentlemen! So much blood, mixed with excrements, fat and bones. Removing it by hand is possible, but inefficient. Instead we have machinized the transport and let crushed bones and liquids flow together. Cold water from the river cools the engine and flushes the waste, hot blood rushes through the turbines and gives the energy back. By combining different processes we kill two rats with one stone.  

Imagine how many possibilities! How everything can benefit from each process if they are properly streamlined and mechanized. Food, transport, medicine... everything is intertwined!

We can build one machine for everything.

***

The wheels were gigantic, four times of any Corvo has seen. They tugged, pulled and forced each other into motion. The clang of metal was rhythmic like a heartbeat. The floor vibrated under the power of the engines.

Never before did Corvo feel so much like an insect. But the Machine slumbered, unaware of his presence.

Corvo's map felt awfully inadequate and utterly unhelpful. This was a kingdom in itself. People could live here and never meet each other. A map labelled with such names as "Factory" and "Bilge Pumps" and small abstract drawings was an insult to the place. A bloody labyrinth. It went on and on and all that Corvo could say about his direction, was that he kept going down.

He heard a squeal and again couldn't say where it came from. The Machine was too loud for him to hear footsteps, but not loud enough to conceal the animal voices. The darkness hid Corvo just as it hid the manpigs. Corvo heard them just now as he heard them before, but not once did they reveal themselves. Not since the first time at church.

The noises were unnerving and Corvo already considered the possibility that his mind was playing tricks, but, well... He was weary and preferred believing in what he saw. He saw hooved footprints, he heard multiple squeals from different directions. Enough evidence for him that _they_ were around. 

"They". Another uncertainty. Were the man-pigs alone? Were they led by Mandus? Were there any other humans left here beside him? Somebody worked the machines, didn't they?

But who said that it were humans that operated the machines? "Bound to tools", said the man-pig. The things were created to labour here.

Corvo has examined the flashing light bulbs, buttons and levers before, yet could not make sense of them. It seemed insulting that the creatures like this were more intelligent than him, but Corvo quickly smothered that feeling. They weren't always beasts. Something had been done to them and they were guilty of no crime. Unlike Corvo.

The thoughts were running in the background of Corvo's mind, as he explored the machine level. Crates were stacked in the corner, filled with coal. Several empty cages with cloth thrown over them stood along the walls. A few panels in the big machines were unscrewed and tools were lying close to it, as if somebody was interrupted in the process of repairing it.

Several exits leading upwards were blocked. Corvo had to do some tricky climbing to circumvent the obstacle, but managed in the end. As for the way downwards, it was much worse. Checking several times, Corvo had to submit to the fact that the only way down was blocked by a Wall of Light.

Unlike the ones found in the streets, this wall wasn't fuelled by a whale oil tank, as far as Corvo could. It means its power came from somewhere else.

Corvo turned around and stared at the blinking lights.

Oh, for Void's sake. Pick the place with the most buttons and levers, destroy it, and then move on to the next. Something essential will break eventually.

Approaching a promising hub, Corvo took out his blade and forced it into the innards of the machine.

***

Mandus had a deja-vu as the lights over him flickered. Thankfully, they did not go out unlike last time, for the consequences this time would be much graver.

The descent was slow. Delicate motifs adorned the elevator walls and Mandus could see the rough walls of the shaft behind. The doors rattled and some part of the mechanism noisily screeched, complaining about its duty. Well, it did not really matter whether this thing was quiet or not. Mandus was finally making progress.

Mandus leaned on the wall, absent-mindedly examining the sturdy lantern in his hand. He was learning to value this old-fashioned thing more and more with each hour. It did not break easily. It took only a few moments to smother the flame, if one felt the need to hide one's presence. Very sparse whale oil consumption. Mandus did not expect such a mundane object to become his most prized possession in these dark corridors.

He did not expect neither of this, actually. Seeing the usually bustling factory empty and abandoned felt... Mandus did not know how to explain. This factory was his life's work. He nurtured it to life from the time when it was little more than a sketch on paper. Now it was empty and lifeless, except for the untiring and unstopping machines.

A haunting experience. Wandering the halls, Mandus sometimes forgot about the about the assassin that hunted him and his children.

Lights flickered. As Mandus wrinkled his nose in displeasure and worry, the cabin went dark. With a shudder, the elevator came to a halt.

His breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the swallowing dark. Mandus ignited the lantern with shaking hands and just looked stupefied at the motionless cage he was stuck in.

Mandus came to his senses pretty soon. He sent a lightray down, to find out whether the next floor was nearby or whether just an empty shaft waited below. It was the latter. Then he unscrewed the lid in the ceiling and climbed up.

The elevator cabin slightly rocked under his motions. Mandus clinged to the metal cables with one hand and illuminated the shaft with the other. Fear clouded his vision and it took him time to finally recognize the ladder which the mechanics used for repairs. Ladder was a generous term, of course. Small pieces of metal rooted in the stone with barely enough room to put both hands side by side.

Fixing the lantern to his belt, Mandus carefully let go the cable and grasped for the rung. Let's hope it will hold his weight.

***

At last, the light died. Tired whizzing sounded in the distance and as Corvo returned to the exit down, he was relieved to find the electrical obstacle removed.

But the change did not go unnoticed. As the great wheels slowly came to a halt, nothing prevented Corvo now from hearing the agitated voices of the man-pigs. Even worse, those screams were accompanied by heavy footsteps that grew closer. The floor trembled under the approaching horde.

Corvo ran through the corridor, abandoning stealth for haste. Very soon he was at crossroads, took the left turn. Almost immediately the tunnel diverged into two and Corvo picked at random once again. Judging by the sound, the pursuers were close. Corvo could only hope to get lucky and not run into any of them. These tunnels were narrow and one of the worst possible places to get surrounded.

Corvo's luck was as awful as always. Taking the next turn, he barely managed not to stumble into one of the beasts. The sour stench touched his nostrils, but even close as this, the man-pig did not notice his prey. Looking into a different direction, the pig raised his head to sniff at the air.

With the metal taste of fear on his tongue, Corvo carefully walked backwards. His gaze fell upon the white thing on the pig's back and with that Corvo recognized his old Overseer friend.

As soon as he got around the corner, Corvo breathed out and looked back. There was noises coming from there too. With little choice left, Corvo fumbled with his chest pocket and took out the rat, ignoring the rustling of cloth and grunts behind. Pushing the mask up, Corvo bit off the rat's head. Holding it in his mouth, Corvo closed his eyes to imagine the rat-being and, feeling the burning chill on the marked hand, found himself suddenly very small and hairy.

Nervously sniffing, the Corvo-rat scurried past the thoughtful man-pig, crossed another corridor, was almost stepped on by a another trampling pig. At last the rat found a small grate and squeezed itself through the bars.

Corvo shuddered on the other side, as change claimed him once again. It smelled like blood and meat in here. Muffled pig-squeals came from beyond the grate, but ahead there was just silence.

Instead of relief, Corvo felt just the strong need to vomit. He spit out the rat's head and stumbled ahead. No time for rest.

***

There were a few moments, when Mandus's legs were dangling above the shaft and, terrified, he felt himself slipping. In the end though, Mandus managed to scramble up to the floor, however undignified it might have looked.

Breathing heavily, Mandus undid the lantern from his belt and held it up high. The passage was narrow and cables were everywhere. This place was clearly only meant to be visited for maintenance and repair. At least it would mean here are some tools that he could use to fix whatever was wrong with the power supply.

The lantern rocked from side to side, as Mandus slowly walked forward. How lucky for him, that he never had claustrophobia in his entire life. These cramped tunnels deep underground might have gotten to many otherwise brave men. As for himself, Mandus was used to work in these conditions. In fact, it felt good to be underground.

Just months ago, Mandus would have said the same thing about being in the dark. Not anymore. He will not deny it: Oswald Mandus was now very scared of the total darkness.

A loud sound made him twitch. Seconds later he recognized it - a phone was ringing.

Mandus quickened his step and, indeed, there was a door ahead. With the slightest push it swung open. Red lights shone on the phone's casing.

Hesitating, Mandus slowly approached. The pull the phone had on him was undeniable and Mandus knew, that he will pick it up eventually. But the fact, that he knew exactly whose voice he will hear on the phone sent shivers down his spine.

He picked up the phone.

"Mandus."

"What you want?"

" _My_ wants? You are getting this all wrong, Mandus. This is not about my want and not even yours. This is about _need_ and you need to hurry! The assassin is ahead of you and if he reaches the Heart before you do... He will kill the Machine and with that you will lose all hope for salvation."

"Who are you to know that? And why on bloody Earth do you think that a butchering factory can stop an assassin?"

"Oh, Mandus. Do not forget: Your Machine was built for many things."

"Yes, but I do not recall a defense mechanism to be one of them!"

"How many things can you recall, my dear Mandus? Until you do, you will have to trust my guiding hand."

"This is a hardly an answer. Who are you?"

"Not enough of an answer for you? All right, Mandus. I will tell you then about the creature that threatens you. Behind the mask hides a traitor, murderer and heretical madman. Imprisoned for the murder of Jessamine Kaldwin, he escaped the prison to keep gorging on blood and suffering. Corvo Attano stalked the streets and not even the most guarded mansions could keep him out."

"He killed the musician. On a masked house party, Attano invited Lydia Boyle for a dance and all music stopped when his blade found her heart. He killed her the same way he killed his beloved Empress."

"His child is lost to him. His hands are red with blood and his girl wears pure white, how can he ever hold her in his arms without tainting her? Death replaced the man in him and Death has no family. It is no wonder, Corvo Attono suffers so much. To what lengths would a grieving father go to ease the pain..?"

"He cannot help but take your children away as he lost his. Kill him, Mandus. It is the only mercy you can give him.

***

The Machine sings. The crackling of the furnaces, whistling of steampipes accompanies the butchering, while the hard clanging of metal sets the rhythm. All is as it should. Order above all things.

But if someone disturbs the melody, if somebody messes up the rhythm, an unimaginable wailing sets in place. The piggies can't sleep without the lullaby. The piggies want to kill.

Is someone down here? Did a little piggy just lose his way?

***

Without the mask the smells were stronger and the world felt realer than ever. Yet strong sensual experiences were the last thing Corvo needed in a bloody slaughterhouse.

The mask rested on his knees, as Corvo rubbed his aching eyes. Metal scent of blood, rot and shit surrounded him and made him almost gall. He tried to breathe evenly.

When Corvo took a rat from his pocket, he felt wriggling maggots in its fur. Shaking them off in disgust, Corvo almost laughed. Well, that explains where the smell of rot came from. He'll discard the remaining rat corpses right here. One will have to manage the rest of the way without his trusted dead-living pieces.

Corvo stared into the muddy eyes of the dead rat and summoned the Void. His hand spasmed and pain shot through it, but the connection was made. He saw a reflection of a tired man with inflamed eyes.

The dead-living piece escaped from his limp grasp and scurried away. Find a way out or snatch some keys from somewhere. Clear and simple.

Corvo closed his eyes. He felt exhaustion in every bone.

***

The chain finally gave in and fell to the ground with a loud sound. Mandus dropped the bolt cutters to the ground and massaged his hand with a pained scowl. His fingers hurt from the sheer power he had to exercise to get this thing off the metal door.

Picking up the lantern from the floor, Mandus pushed the door open and walked into the next room. Darkness stalked his every step and the island of light was very small. Mandus had to walk around the big wheels several times to appropriate the damage. These machines were made to be sturdy and of good steel. Someone cut and ravaged them with unfathomable power.

Seeing the work of the saboteur, the image of the tall dark figure came to his mind. Mask like a black skull. Fast like an apparition. Through the destruction he has wrecked, his presence was now felt everywhere. Corvo Attano silenced the machines and killed the light, now it was up to Mandus to undo it. The elevator will not move without power.

Attano has struck without understanding and, luckily, his Machine was built to withstand punishment. Most systems he fumbled were not vital to the power supply, but he has destroyed several fuses and the main oil tank. Attano must have had the Outsider's luck, for one needed only a single spark near a tank of this size to blow this whole place to pieces.

It was a fine mess. Removing an oil tank that was two times of the size of a grown man was an impossible task for a single man - lest to speak, quite dangerous. But Mandus had enough foresight, when creating this factory to prepare for such emergency situations. If one replaces the fuses, it is possible to open the sewer gates to spin the turbines into action which will in their own turn power the butchering line which kickstarts numerous other processes...

In short, this factory could supply itself with power if Mandus made the turbines work. The main control room was nearby and just now, in the worker tunnels, Mandus already seen some fuses he could use to fix this mess...

*** 

Corvo woke up from the sensation of his eyeballs bursting. He cried out and clasped hands over his eyes, seeing only red. When the pain faded, Corvo realized that the dead-living piece was now gone. Someone has killed it.

He did not remember falling asleep nor could he tell for how long he was asleep. Probably not much, since he was still tired.

Corvo massaged his eyes, trying to remember what the rat saw. Metal, meat and bones, then wooden floors. A ring of keys in the end, cold metal between teeth. A heavy load that made a lot of noises, dragging on the floor, and that must have attracted the man-pig that crushed the rat in his hand. Corvo bid farewell to it. It did his best.

The keys. Corvo will recognize the place when he sees it. He was vaguely aware of which direction the rat took and so he tried to retrace its steps.

***

The control room was in as bad a state as the rest of the faculty. Someone knocked over the chair, paper was lying all over the floor and two levers were broken. Mandus did not have to guess who the culprit was.

Kickstarting the turbines was not something he did every day, therefore it took a bit of time to remember the process. In fact, quite a lot of gut feeling and guesswork was involved. The make-shift levers were an improvisation and had to be pulled carefully, even when the frustration kicked in and he felt like jerking at them.

Mandus must have ended up pushing buttons in the right sequence eventually, as first the wheels began slowly moving in the dark, then accelerated. As the lightbulbs flared up, Mandus sighed in relief and turned off the lantern. Now to the elevator. May nothing else stand in his way.

***

One of those gifts from the Outsider that Corvo found the most useful - he could perfectly see in the dark. But finding the keys in such a maze like this was still a mighty challenge and it did not help, that Corvo had to stay on the look-out for enemies. The man-pig that killed the rat might be still around.

Maybe the man-pig took the keys for himself. A very likely and unfortunate scenario..

Corvo scowled, resting on a small metal ledge even above the walks. The walks themselves were hanging in the air, so one could supervise the butchering process. From here one could see the vats with still dark blood, the production lines and the large carts filled with pig carcasses.

Pigs, pigs, pigs. Where was Mandus even getting all those pigs from? Pork meat was more of a delicacy around here, since there were few specialized pigs farmers on the Isles (unlike Tyvia, for example). But Mandus was a control freak, wasn't he? Maybe he bred his own pigs underground...

Squinting eyes and looking for a bronze glimmer, Corvo eventually sighed and carefully jumped down on the metal walk. What exactly did the rat see? Corvo remembered being squeezed, suffocating and everything being painfully red. Come to think of it, the sensation was more complex than that.

He had a hunch. Moving towards the vats with blood, Corvo examined the walks and the floor beneath. The keys could have slipped down in the struggle, and when the pig caught the rat... yes, Corvo remembered wet sticky liquid around him. The pig must have thrown the rat in the container with blood where it eventually drowned.

There it was. On the edge of the vat, several keys hanging from both sides and keeping the ring they were attached to in precarious balance. There was no way Corvo could simply grab them, nor stand on an edge this slim.

How lucky that the Outsider's gifts had many uses. Whispering something, Corvo seduced the keys to fall upwards into his welcoming hand. The keys trembled, then slithered and finally jumped to him. Corvo caught them just in time.

Corvo smiled and with satisfaction stuffed them in his pockets. Now he only had to find the right door and keep moving downwards.

Oh, not again. He heard steps.

Half-crouching, Corvo looked around and saw a shape move in the dark. He started sneaking in the opposite direction, praying that the loud metal will not betray his position and that the pig had worse eyesight than he did.

Glancing again in its direction, Corvo had a feeling that the pig had indeed trouble seeing in the darkness. It kept touching the railing and sometimes slowed down to sniff and think. Unless Corvo makes a noise, he should be safe.

Although, maybe not. From the door, which Corvo has set as his destination, another pig emerged. They had Corvo surrounded, but unaware of it. One squealed and the other responded. Belatedly, a third pig shrieked on the floor below. Shit.

Corvo examined his surroundings and thought hard. With no better plan in sight, Corvo gracefully and quietly swung over the railing and landed on a production line. It seemed to lead somewhere out of this room, with a long tunnel made just for it. No clue whether it's a dead-end, but at least no pigs are gonna patrol a bloody production line.

There were slippery wet spots here and there and several small bones crunched under his boots. But Corvo's escape did not have to be perfect, it only had to be good enough and the pigs were busy grunting to themselves as it is. These pig-guards were nothing compared to those employed by paranoid nobles in Dunwall city.

Corvo was now at the edges of the room and could see the tunnel in closer detail. Something metallic and sharp glistened below and in the far distance a pair of walks grew from the wall. Relieved to find out, that this was not a dead-end, Corvo moved ahead.

In that moment, with a crackling electrical sound, the Machine was reawakened. Like a sleepy man opening his eyes, the light bulbs flared with faint light and then grew brighter. The production line jerked under Corvo's feet and started moving.

The pigs saw and screamed in unleashed rage. A pig nearby, that Corvo did not notice before in the dark, swung a stick with a hook and almost hit his legs as Corvo jumped. The pig roared in fury and spittle flew everywhere, then attempted again to hit him. Too late, Corvo was out of range and sprinting towards the far away walks in the tunnel.

He felt the production line tremble and glanced back to see the pig scramble on top of it and give chase. Feeling the tremors of the heavy steps and the loud pig-screams behind, Corvo discovered that he could run even faster now. Figures, being scared had its advantages, although advantage in numbers - as the pigs had it - would be even more welcome.

Corvo was gaining distance. However furious the pig was and however intent on catching him, it was still an awkward and clumsy creation. It couldn't keep up with the man who had been running from the moment the Empress died. Corvo fixed his eyes on the walks ahead and clenched his fist, mentally preparing to blink as soon as they got close enough.

The production line suddenly shook and Corvo looked back to find out why. He heard a squeal and saw the pig desperately claw at the production line. It must have slipped, fallen and now struggled to get up. Convenient. Corvo focused on the walks ahead again, approaching them fast.

Another squeal, full of pain. Corvo glanced back again and saw the pig slip even further down. It wailed helplessly while the blades of steel turned beneath the production line. Fresh blood stained one of them.

The sounds resonate strongly in tunnels like this. Each scream has an echo and it comes from all directions. One reached Corvo and made him halt, but the moving production line carried him on regardless. He had to decide fast.

More pigs were climbing the production line now and running for Corvo. They'd help the pig up, wouldn't they?

Would they?

Corvo bared his teeth in rage and ran towards the slipping pig. The last stretch he blinked, knowing he was out of time. Tugging at the fat arm of the pig, Corvo mustered all his strength to pull it up. The back of his mind was mildly surprised how warm and rough the pig's hand felt.

Last desperate pull and Corvo got the pig to safety, almost falling down in the process. Looking to the left, the sight of the approaching horde made Corvo's mouth go dry and run for his life. He blinked forward and then forced his exhausted mind to perform a last trick - up to the walks.

Heart beating like mad and lungs burning, Corvo looked down on the furious mass. He tried to find the one he saved, but the pig-faces distorted in anger looked all the same.

Corvo began walking away from them, suddenly too tired to care. Their screams followed him for a long while.

***

With a metallic sigh the elevator stopped at the lowest point it could go. Mandus had to push the elevator fence to the side himself to get out of here.

The corridor was laid out with ceramic tiles and looked clinically clean. An acidic medical smell hung in the air and vague memories of unpleasant business rose up. Mandus did not like this place for some reason.

It was very silent here. In the upper tunnels there was always something to be heard. Hum of electricity, wheels and gear clicking and clacking, metal screeching under his weight. But here the sound was removed from the body of the Machine. A place of solitude to breed utter perfection.

It was getting colder. Mandus thought it was just his imagination at first, but when his breath started leaving white clouds, he realized that this was not simply the chill of the underground. The freezing facilities must be nearby.

When Mandus found the solid metal doors that sealed the meat inside, he for some reason briefly considered going in, but then discarded that idea. Inside the storage room there was nothing but meat and therefore nothing useful for his journey. Besides, it was after all freezing cold in there.

Mandus walked past the doors and later found the source of the ungodly chill he felt. A wall was broken through and icicles formed itself around the breach. The snow was tainted with blood. He tried to keep the breach in sight, as he passed it. He feared that something would jump at him from that hole.

His mental map of the factory told Mandus that he was getting close to the heart, considering that he just passed the storage room. Three or four levels lay the centre of the machine. There was a problem though. The further down Mandus went, the smaller and more focused the levels became and the harder it would become to evade his pursuer.

It worried him a lot. He tried to plan a route, think of safety measures, but ultimately it felt a very futile exercise. If the assassin found him right here, where would Mandus run? Could he even outrun a monster like that?

His chances of survival felt abysmally low, but he had to find a way. He must save them. He had to! He had to protect Edwin and Enoch.

These thoughts shielded him from despair.

Mandus stopped in his tracks, when he heard a phone ringing. This again? Was the weird man feeling increasingly lonely and decided to call on Mandus every couple hours?

Despite black humour, Mandus felt uneasy about the situation. He searched for the phone regardless, like the good doggy he was.

The room he entered was bigger than most offices, with quality wood furnishing and various sketches hung on walls and strewn on tables. Several people used to work here. It was much warmer here. Mandus went straightforward for the telephone and when he touched it, it stopped ringing.

Mandus stood dumbfounded. This was very unlike the mysterious caller. His skin began itching and Mandus looked around in alarm. Had someone followed him? Was this a trap set by the assassin?

Only his fast breathing ruptured the silence. Mandus stared into the shadows, seeing faces that were not there. Slowly, he lowered his lantern and tried to calm himself down.

Just now he noticed a smell. A pleasant one, one that made him salivate. Mandus's gaze stopped on the desk in the middle of the room. It was the only one fully covered by white cloth. He slowly stepped to it and, before fear again took control of his body, he tore the blanket away.

The white plate with food slithered and stopped short of the edge of the desk. The fork and knife, that someone neatly arranged before, were disturbed as well by Mandus's actions.

Mandus stared at the steaming meat. Someone had prepared it just for him.

"This is ridiculous," thought Mandus. "This is too ridiculous to be a trap." It was impossible for Mandus to imagine Corvo Attano cooking a dinner for his target when he simply could have ambushed him right here.

Someone had drawn with brown sauce a small picture of a smiling pig on the upper edge of the plate.

Still in shock, Mandus sat down on the chair and fixed the napkin at his collar. Taking the fork and the knife in both hands, Mandus stared at the slices of meat for some time. Then he began the meal.

Mandus had not eaten in days and after he put the first slice in his mouth, he felt his self-control slipping. He tore at the thick meat steaks with teeth and couldn't care that the brown sauce flew in all directions. He munched, swallowed and stuffed himself with more and more of the food. It felt gorgeous. He felt alive.

Half-way through the dish, his shoulder started suddenly shaking. Mandus spit out the half-chewed meat and laughed like a madman. "Pigs," thought Mandus, "Pigs!" This thought made him laugh him even harder until tears welled up in his eyes.

The darkness carried his laughter like a message.

"Pigs, just pigs," stuttered Mandus, then roared with laughter again. "Pigs!"

***

Corvo had been going without sleep the last days. He thought he might as well push his body to the limits for this final stretch, but it wasn't working out. He was tired and there was still so much of the path left to go.

There was dull pain in his body that he could not attribute to real injuries. Were the last days and the cold taking their toll? Was this some sort of phantom pain that did not really exist?

Corvo felt like giving up for a few hours. Not giving up on Emily, since he could never do that, but give up to sleep and admit himself a failure for a few hours. Do whatever he did, when he rested between missions.

Memories of his Outsider shrine at home came to him and Corvo was filled with longing. The runes looked even more enthralling in purple light and bathed his soul in bliss. He scavenged expensive cloth to frame the runes with beauty befitting the Outsider. He spent so much time perfecting his wonderful shrine.

And while he prayed in purple light, Emily thrashed in sleep, battling nightmares. Battling them all on her own, while Corvo fingered his bloody precious runes.

How sorry he was. How utterly pathetic and sorry he was for what he failed to do.

***

A good meal has calmed him down. Mandus felt less afraid, less jittery in the dark. His task was simple. Whether he failed or not was mostly out of his hands and this realization was freeing.

The ceramic tiles changed to stone. Function precedes form, and this change meant something in the language of the Machine. Mandus just couldn't remember what.

There was a room he had peeked inside a few minutes ago. It had ceramic tiling, shower heads and a drain in the middle. It looked like a round mouth that was sucking in the blood of the floor. Someone did not clean properly after slaughtering.

How annoying that the power of the turbines did not suffice to light the lower levels. Or maybe it did suffice, but the saboteur had struck again?

Mandus found aт empty cage standing in the tunnel, then a few more. At the end of the corridor: a single unlocked door. More cages inside that room, standing in messy rows and forming paths. Cloth covered some of them.

Smelled like shit in here. Mandus walked through the rows and the pigs in cages lazily raised their heads to look at the light Mandus carried. Most of the animals though did not move. Maggots feasted on their corpses.

The sound of breathing made Mandus stop several times and he listened intently. It was a raspy sound that returned in regular intervals. Obviously, pigs breathe too, but this reminded him of a human breathing. The assassin?

Telling himself, that this action was dictated by rationality instead of cowardice, Mandus smothered his lantern. He would find the exit either way and if he dragged his hand along the metal cages, he could easily follow the path.

In darkness the sound of breathing grew more distinct. Mandus was not alone.

Despite careful slow steps, Mandus traipsed into a cage and made a horribly loud sound. He licked his lips and tried to listen over the deafening beating of his heart.

A male voice. But it wasn't Attano, no, no! The man talked in Tyvian and after a few agitated sentences, he became silent.

"Who are you?" asked Mandus, lighting his lantern with shaking hands. "Where are you?"

Pigs softly grunted in response.

"Answer me! Just say something, so I can find you!"

The breathing was still there, but quieter. Much quieter.

Mandus shuffled through cages, trying to find the stranger. He even looked under some of the clothed cages, to see if the man hid there. All were empty. From others dirty hooves were sticking out and Mandus skipped them.

He had to admit eventually, that the room was empty except for him. Maybe the Tyvian had left this place. Maybe he was madmen or a bum that stumbled into his Machine. Mandus was pretty sure he never employed Tyvians, anyway.

***

_Audiograph recording 29th of Month of Harvest. One month before the death of the Empress._

 

"I really have to say, that I have been on the fence for a long time about these things. But you have won me over, Mandus! Now I find myself excited and giddy with anticipation..."

The man, that said it, chuckled at the end with self-irony.

"To think, Mandus! To think what one can do with tools that you have! What new heights Dunwall and even all of mankind can reach..!"

"Professor, Professor," said a warm baritone, "do not get carried away. Before you forge plans for conquering the world, please let me give a demonstration first."

"Of course! I assume this is the specimen you will be working on?"

"Yes. I have prepared in advance, to skip the boring parts and begin with the moulding immediately. As you can see, male, about in his twenties and deathly sick... I hope you have taken your elixir today?"

"Twice of the dosis."

"Excellent. The world would not want to lose a sharp mind like yours and I would miss a companion such as yourself.

"Either way, this specimen was first sedated, then tied to the chair to ease the surgery and protect the personnel. (These things don't understand gratefulness, do they?) Anyway, after the sedative wears off, I inject the formula and half a day later, he is ready for the procedure."

"Is he awake right now?"

"If he is not, then he soon certainly will be! Let me check..."

Sickly sound of something tearing and wetly plopping.

"Mandus!"

Someone moans in pain.

"Now he is awake. Cheer up, Professor. He wasn't gonna need that ear anyway. You can see yourself, his flesh is now very susceptible to changes. Tools accelerate the process, but technically one can mould him with bare hands. I find this to be a very artistic experience, much similar to the work of a sculptor. Do you wish to try a hand?"

"No, no, Mandus. Demonstration... suffices."

"As you say. The first step is usually removing the jaw, since we need to make place for the snout. With a determined tug..."

Ripping, wet chunks falling to floor, wailing. A man galls.

"I'm sorry Mandus, I..." Sound of footsteps. "I will look away for a few moments, if you do not mind. I have seen surgeries, I am not icky... a man of science. But I may have eaten too much spicy food today and such a heavy meal! Delicious, but just... heavy."

"Are you sure, Professor? The highlight is the attaching of the pig's head and melding it together... You certainly don't want to try and endure the sight of blood for a little longer?"

"I am sorry, Mandus. Maybe later, another demonstration..?"

A sigh.

"Very well."

Several clacking steps and rustling of cloth.

"I have covered the face, Professor. You may look now."

"Thank you, Mandus."

"Now come closer. I'm afraid I won't let you out just yet, Professor. This demonstration is important to me. Touch his hand."

There is silence.

"Good. Now let me show you what happens if you push like this... do you see?"

"Like heated wax."

"Yes! You understand. Try to pinch it. Stays that way, doesn't it? One can even change the position of the fingers, rearrange like this."

Faint snapping of bones.

"Reminds me of a pink spider, somehow."

"Me too, Professor. Now we both see the comedy in this situation."

"We do."

"You can write something, Professor. He is an open book to be written by wise men. Do you feel like adding something to it?"

Concentrated silence and then both laugh like schoolchildren.

"Good idea, Professor!"

"A pig needs to be marked, does it not?"

"Yes, you are right, and your initials make for a fine mark." The man grew serious. "Professor, you have taken part in something important today. You have helped create a new species and new masters for them. Like us! Let us drink, Professor. We've done well today."

***

In the next room there were cages too. And in the next. And in the next. The pigs followed Mandus with their daft eyes, grunting and shifting in the cages. Their presence was suddenly disquieting. If those animals could just stop making sounds, then he would know whether anyone was breathing in here and whether the whispers, he kept hearing, were real.

Mandus was hot and sweating. The air was humid and almost as bad as in Pandyssia. It was full of disease, piercing pain and... no, he could not remember.

Something hoarsely moaned in the corner, then noisily breathed through snotted up nostrils. Disgusting sound. Mandus stopped and leaned on a cage, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Why was it so hot in here? It drove him insane.

Wiping away the sweat from the forehead, whispered words reached him.

"Schlaf, mein Kind schlaf..."

A woman was singing under her breath. Not a beautiful voice.

"Dein Herz schlägt unter meiner Hand."

Mandus did not interrupt, searching for the woman. The lantern swung wildly back and forth, as he illuminated in all directions.

"Und ich wiege dich in dieser finsteren Liebe."

He was getting closer, so close!

"Wiege dich in meinen Wunden."

Mandus was almost in front of it. The middle island of the cages, three of them stacked upon each other. The voice was coming from here!

"Dieses... Herz."

Silence. It felt like a broken string on a violin and a feeling of loss washed over Mandus. But the woman was here and he could still hear her breath.

One cage was only half-covered and a pig's carcass lay inside. The upper one was empty, except for a porcelain pig mask. His servants used to wear those for special occasion.

Mandus heard breathing behind the last curtain. The soft sound was pulling at him, as if a string was tied to his heart. His tongue was dry. He lifted his arm and touched the rough fabric wrapped around the cage. Mandus recognized the mark on the cloth. This sheet was produced in his own fabric.

Gripping the curtain, Mandus tried to pull it to the side. He almost succeeded. When the cloth reached the middle, a hand from the inside grabbed the curtain and pulled it back in place. Spiderlike fingers, a woman's hand.

A pig squeal came from behind the curtain. Again and again. The other pigs in the cages grew agitated too, feet shuffling and grunting. Now the shrill squeals came from everywhere.

Something popped inside Mandus's head, like a boil bursting with pus. The hatred that washed over Mandus was universal. Attached to no face and no idea, like a scream halling in all directions. Twisting his mouth in scorn, Mandus stepped back. One, two, three steps. Then he moved through the faceless cages, letting hatred guide him. Mandus was a slithering monstrous thing that ignored the mournful animal voices and cut through the labyrinth.

When he found the exit, standing in the doorframe, the hatred bid Mandus farewell and left him all alone. Utterly defenceless, Mandus heard a baby cry in the dark.

Mandus stumbled on the way out, his heart bleeding.

"Why won't it die," thought Mandus with despair. "I don't want it to hurt me any longer."

***

How this place never changes. Blue and empty, like a mouth yearning for more, like a stomach never filled. But if the Void never changes, then at least it can never become infected. That was a relief in itself.

Broken pieces of Dunwall were strewn through the Void, defying gravity and arranged in aesthetic chaos. A testament to Corvo's failure. He looked away to face the Outsider directly.

The bastard in black smiled and turned his hands towards Corvo in a gesture of welcome.

"Corvo. You have been silent the last days."

Corvo shrugged and examined the faint smile on Outsider's lips. That was unusual. Why was the bastard in such good mood?

"Do you ever wonder, how everything could go so wrong?" asked the Outsider.

It went exactly as you wanted, didn't you? But Corvo did not say it out loud, just looked away into the Void.

"And now you blame me." The Outsider crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side.

"I blame you for enjoying, but my guilt and my actions are my own."

The darkness in his eyes moved like ink and the Outsider smiled. He changed position and appeared further in the distance, a flash in black. Corvo reluctantly followed him, since the Outsider was intently examining something.

Approaching, Corvo saw a spilled elixir bottle on a marble table. A rat was lapping at the red liquid.

"What unexpected change of heart, Corvo. Yet the theater's roof is giving in, some actors left the stage while others forgot the script..."

Corvo carefully took off his mask and examined the polished black metal. Air on his skin felt unfamiliar, but pleasant. Despite the fact that it's just fake air under a fake sky.

"I am tired playing as Death. What others will make of it is not me concern."

Outsider raised his eyebrows, still smiling. He did not have to voice his doubt for Corvo did not really believe his words either.

Then the Outsider nodded and dissolved into nothing. The Void followed its master like a dog. Ground removed itself from under Corvo's feet, air and light stopped existing. This place gently undid Corvo's grasp and sent him home.

Corvo returned to darkness and aching limbs. Blinking a few times, he realized that he was not alone.

There was a man-pig kneeling next to him, watching. Corvo felt a shiver down his spine and then amazement. The man-pig noticed Corvo's movements and breathed in deeply. Corvo did not move, staring and taking in the sight of the mutilated pig-face. It was as if someone cut off a pig's head and pulled it over a human skull, sealing with hot wax.

The man-pig made a guttural sound, then another, which Corvo interpreted as rasping his throat. Then it spoke.

"I've searched for you."

The voice was familiar. A few seconds later the realization came: the Overseer pig. Corvo's heart started beating faster.

"Death, I need you," said the pig faltering. It lowered its head and said, "I need you. Make it stop."

Corvo waited for the pang of pain to pass, so it would not be heard in his voice.

"Tell me your name."

The man-pig wagged its head and looked at Corvo in despair.

"You can't go before we both know. Your name, Brother..?"

The Overseer made a pained sound and stared at the floor.

"Frederick," slowly came the answer. "Brother Frederick."

"Brother Frederick," repeated Corvo. This was hard. This was hard and Corvo had little clue how to do it. "You endured much pain in the last days."

"Days?" the man-pig laughed in incredulity with a voice of a young man. "It's been weeks, months... maybe years. I do not know... know nothing."

"My pain is nothing," added the Overseer with bitter anger. "What is pain? It is nothing. But what I've eaten? What tools my hands are bound to, to what purpose? That's where the pain lies. Me... I am nothing."

Corvo stayed silent and pity stared with blind eyes.

"Death, take me. Take me away from here. Even the Void, even damnation..."

"There is a world above. You can escape."

Frederick shook his head.

"On the surface, where the Seven Scriptures rule, monsters are to be be stoned and burned in cleansing fire. I do not believe in cleansing. Nothing can cleanse a soul this rotten. And there is not exit that lead out of this Machine. We have searched and found only blood."

"Only you have the key to the exit," said the man-pig with yearning. "The only way out."

Looking from below the Death's mask, Corvo tried to find a different mercy to give this man. He felt despair and guilt crushing his bones.

"You do not have to fear the Void. It is..."

"A place of reckoning and rot," said the Overseer.

"Peaceful."

"No! The Void is where sinners go in death. There is no peace. The only thing that exists, is turmoil that shreds your soul and bites at you like a mad dog."

Corvo faltered. It was no use arguing about the Void with a former Overseer. Even worse, the anger resurfaced again in Frederick's voice and Corvo feared to lose him.

"Brother Frederick. If a witch curses a child, who of the two will the Void claim?"

"The witch, but..."

"You are not the monster, Frederick. This was done to you."

"But I have done things too," said the man-pig in despair, "I've eaten and killed and tortured them..."

"You have been cursed. You've been a tool to horrible men. Your goal that brought you here was holy... you seeked to do good."

"I do not know, why I came here," said the man-pig, looking lost.

"But I know. The Void does not know your face and never will. Your heart is Dunwall's and it will stay here."

"A pig-heart for a rotten dying city," said the man-pig with acid, "What a match!"

"Dying?" asked Corvo.

"Yes."

"Brother Frederick, have you not heard?"

"Hear _what?"_

"I figured the bells would reach you even here. The sound was deafening like the roar of a heaven's storm. Two weeks ago, they crowned the young Empress. The city is saved."

The Overseer stared.

"The days before the coronation, an unlikely couple have called a truce. Anton Sokolov and Piero Joplin are now working hand in hand, having forgotten their rivalry. Two brilliant minds had found new ways to make the elixir and unite their strengths. Anyone will be able to buy a cure with little money. Not only that, but three days ago a woman left their working place. She cried so hard, she could barely see, but now real tears came from her eyes instead of blood. A cure, a true cure!"

Frederick listened without breathing.

"The coronation was for all to see. When the young Empress appeared before the crowd, a pure child in white, there was a hush. She was gone for so long, that many believed her dead. Then the first cheer rang and thousands followed. 'Long live the Empress! Long live the Empress!' The time for celebration had come, for the city was saved!"

"All feuds forgotten, all deeds forgiven, Hatter walked in hand with Dead Eel and Dead Eel laughed with boys from Bottle street. The law returned to places where it had been less than a whisper. The churches filled with people to hear the Overseers preach."

Corvo took the man-pig by the shoulder and he did not jerk away. Looking in his eyes, Corvo kept singing for him.

"First trader ships have arrived. The blockade is broken and diplomats stream to Dunwall to beg forgiveness and claim ignorance. The Empress nods and requests gifts of courtesy, more food, more oil and more kindness next time. Dunwall has taken blows and is left with scars, but its heart is not dead. It is alive and beats with joy these days!"

"Spring has come. A sweet smell cloaks the city. White petals for innocence left, pink for blood that was shed and blue for forgiveness. Brother Frederick, your Overseer have helped protect the city. Your work was not in vain. Your heart will beat as Dunwall's while wheels turn, bells ring and flowers bloom."

The man-pig did not notice when Corvo drew the blade and it did not twitch when cold metal touched its throat. Corvo put his free hand on his jaw to make him look in his eyes.

"Be at peace. Your soul returns home."

Corvo cut with ease and held the body upright while blood gushed from the wound. Staring in the pig eyes, he hoped to see bliss or relief... but in the end, he could not read it. Glassed out eyes and a heavy body was all what's left of Brother Frederick.

But if Frederick were afraid, he would have twitched when the blade touched him. Frederick would not have listened like his life depended on it if it were not important. Brother Frederick would have turned away the gaze, if he were not ready.

Corvo crumpled down on the floor and violently tore off his mask. He was shaking. A bitter howl was stuck in his throat and he stared with disbelief at the corpse next to him. What a lucky man. What a lucky man. Corvo wailed and bit his hand to stop making sounds. Tears streamed down his face.

Corvo wept for the dying city. He wept for himself. Most of all he wept for that when he dies, nobody will be there to tell him a lie this beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter has taken so long. It has become a rather large one and I did not wish to split it up in several pieces.
> 
> There is now one final chapter left (quite likely as big as this one) and the epilogue. It will take several weeks at least to finish this work.


	4. Chapter 4

They say rats flee from sinking ships. Yet this ain’t a ship, but a city. A dying one and therefore a feast. The rats won’t flee from here.

The Loyalists are here to stay. I thought them to be good men at first, but it seems it was not honor, but hunger which drove them. The rats have found their feast.

I should have known better, but I trusted in this wind to carry us to better times. Chose not to see the currents and tried to forget the oily film of blood on the river surface. I know that a sailor cannot change the weather... but I ignored the signs, when the stakes where the highest and now I've sailed into the eye of the storm.

This is the end, I say myself. This is the end.

***

He stared for a long time into the dark, a blackness that was as complete and terrifying as his own reflection in the Wrenhaven river. His thoughts froze, while he sat on stone floor and listened to his heartbeat. Sleep wouldn’t come to him.

Wailing after the death of the pig priest, Corvo had accidentally bit his tongue and he felt blood in his mouth. He spit it out again and again, but the taste stayed. There was no escaping from himself.

At some point the silence filled his ears and started spilling like wine from a full glass. It pushed him on, forcing into action. Corvo stood hesitatingly up and put on the mask.

With the rough cloth and cold metal on his skin, clarity returned. The task was waiting for him. Save the city. Save the Empress. And in order to do both, first find Mandus.

Corvo - the once assassin, the disgraced bodyguard - moved forward. What else to do, when all bridges are burnt and the city is howling your name?

***

Sometimes this place felt like a wallpaper pattern. The sequence of rooms, stone tunnels and steel machinery repeated itself over and over again, but had just enough variety to stay unpredictable and was yet familiar enough to confuse.

Trying a key after another, Corvo eventually found the right one. Stale air and the smell of paper and ink greeted Corvo once he entered the office. The red eye of a telephone machine stared at him from the dark.

Corvo turned on the lightswitch, without expecting any change, and was surprised to see light bulbs come to life. Pain flared up behind his eyeballs and he had to blink a few times, waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed.

Darkness was becoming more comfortable to Corvo than normal light, but even as he recognized the practical advantages of this fact, he felt reluctant to embrace the change. Symbols hold power, especially for the superstitious heretical lot like him. He didn’t need even more darkness in his life.

Therefore, Corvo looked around the office with squinted eyes, enduring the merciless brightness. He found the usual: documents, ink pen and measuring devices, chairs with leather upholstery and book-filled shelves. But also something new.

A framed portrait of a woman on the desk. Corvo picked it up to examine the black hair, composed stature and the barest hint of warmth, radiating from the faint wrinkles around the eyes. This sign of affection burnt his fingers. He carefully removed the picture from the frame to find out more about it.

There was something written on the back. “Lilly M.”

The “M” had the same whirl as Mandus’s signature and Corvo felt tired sympathy. Another victim taken by the death’s onslaught, another innocent that died too soon. Lily died during childbirth and that was at least ten years ago, but in Corvo’s mind she fell at the same time as the Empress and the victims of the plague.

Grief was a powerful creature. Did it drove Mandus to such insane deeds? But even if it was true, it was no excuse, but merely an explanation.

Corvo suddenly had a vision of a machine, of hundreds of gears pulled by grief and death, forced to murder and betray to give back the pain, which was inflicted upon them. One gear was Corvo, one gear was Daud and another was Mandus. Then multiply tenfold, hundredfold, thousandfold and the machine spans into eternity!

The city. Twitching and screaming. Sentenced to a painful and slow death.

Corvo put the picture back in the frame, with care and bitter tenderness. At least you will not see this, Lily Mandus. You and all the others, the lucky souls.

This room might hold more of Mandus’s bearings, those he held close to his heart. Corvo flipped through the papers and checked the drawers. There was a oval stone in there, broken in half, looking like a stone egg. “This is not important,” told the inner voice and Corvo believed it.

He decided to turn his attention to the bookshelf. Funny enough, he did find something, although it was not among the books. A dark spot on the floor, as if something was leaking from behind the shelf. Corvo dipped a finger and sniffed. Something oily and rancid. He wiped his fingers on the carpet and stood up. Corvo methodically searched for a hidden mechanism, first dumping all the books on the floor, then gingerly pulling at the lamps on the wall. Well, at least Mandus was slightly more inventive than most city nobles.

A hand-carved pig grinned from the top of the book-shelf and once Corvo pushed its eyes, the shelf moved aside. Well, not that inventive after all.

There was a lump of meat on the other side. After Corvo prodded it with his foot though, he wasn't so sure anymore it was meat. It felt rubbery and there weren't any maggots or flies around it. It lay in a pool of rancid liquid.

Corvo stepped over it and entered the hidden pathway. The already narrow corridor was partly obstructed by boxes and Corvo had to carefully place his steps. But not careful enough - he almost slipped, when something rolled away under his foot.

A toy. Corvo picked it up and put it aside. Did Mandus let his children this deep into the factory or was this another relic of happiness long past?

He pressed on. Light fell through cracks, casting a yellow-tinted web on the walls. The corridor split and a room opened to the right.

A machine leaned against the outer wall, its purpose unknown and the innards laid bare for everyone to see. Two glass tanks flanked it, both empty. Child sized furniture, chests overflowing with toys and walls plastered with drawings. If this was a memorial, then an odd one.

Corvo warily eyed the machine, then against his will turned towards the drawings. The subjects of these drawings were as various just as a child's attention span was short: buildings, animals and people. He remarked to himself, that Emily was a better drawer, but that was really childish notion. Mandus' sons drew not that many humans, but their animals were far more detailed and accurate than expected from children.

"Enoch" was tidely written under most birds paintings. "Edwin" was the messy handwriting under the sketched layouts of houses. The masterpiece, on which both had worked on, was a huge drawing of a manor. They must have drawn every window, every door exactly as it looked. People were lined up infront of it. Maids and servants, and in their middle stood a man, holding two boy by their hands.

"The tide has come three time for Mandus," said a familiar voice. "First the dark water swept away his wife, then looming financial ruin began pulling him down like the heavy clothes of a drowning man. When the third wave came crashing down... dear Corvo, you see the aftermath yourself."

Purple breathed on the walls and sharp fresh smell filled the room. Corvo turned his head to see the Outsider stand beside him.

"But why build a machine?" asked Corvo.

Outsider smiled and stepped into the middle of the room. Corvo followed him and his gaze. Two boys were sitting on the floor, shoulder by shoulder. Their peaceful humming made Corvo shiver.

"Some people mean the world to others. To watch them go away is a hard thing to endure, for it is a world destroyed."

Corvo remembered Jessamine’s cold hands and the way her body went limp in his arms.

"To heal and survive, one has to start again; and that means building a world anew."

The boys were working on something, the hands moving in unison. Almost as if they were a single being.

"When the two hearts stopped beating, Mandus was desperate to fill the silence. Now, the Heart of the Machine has replaced his own, a deafening beat without mercy and weakness."

What slumbered under the hands of the boys... Corvo stepped back, biting his tongue. The purple faded and gloom returned to the room. The Outsider was gone.

But his words and the vision remained.

***

A carriage rolled on uneven cobblestones and jolted up and down. The twins were half asleep, Enoch's head on Edwin's shoulder. Mandus stared at red numbers that didn't add up, that appeared negative when they should be positive. The heat of the summer distracted him, and the drunk singing outside made him furious.

The carriage slowed down and there was a noise ahead. Mandus looked out the window. Two haggard figures crossed the street, one limping and the other pulling them forward.

"Papa, why we stop?"

"Nothing," said Mandus, tearing away his gaze from the couple, "We'll be moving soon."

He almost twitched when something hit the carriage door. It was an old woman, hammering with her wooden stick against the door and staring right at Mandus. Her left hand was stretched towards the window and moaning sound came from her toothless mouth. Mercifully, the carriage jerked into action and left the beggar behind.

"What was that?" asked Edwin, rubbing his eye and curiously peeking at Mandus' window.

"Nothing," answered Mandus and closed the curtain. "Just a few street-boys throwing rocks at our carriage."

Edwin uttered a "Huh" and looked out the window on his side. Mandus wished he wouldn't do that. His sons were bright and kind, and due to their youth their compassion knew no bounds. Some filth exists and reaching out for it will not cure it. Only adolescence will teach them this lesson.

Mandus against will remembered the toothless mouth, the pink glistening flesh and the bulbous growths on the nose of the old woman. These people made one dirty just by looking at them. This is what he needed to protect his children from. The ugliness, the sickness and the senseless violence. Animals. This is what most people were in the end.

"Daddy," exclaimed Enoch and jerked open the door. "Look, a guest!"

Mandus stuttered a protest, wanted to tell him to immediately close the door, but then he saw the intruder. A black sniffing nose appeared from under a cloak with long whiskers around it. A giant rat climbed heavily into the carriage and the wood creaked under its weight. The children were delighted, look! A miracle.

The rat smiled red and the cloak suddenly folded in itself, as the rat was replaced by hundreds of smaller ones. One landed on Edwin's arm and both boys screamed when it bit him. Blood ran down the white arm. The rats swarmed his children, biting away chunks of flesh and shrieking in a frenzy.

Mandus was entangled in numbers, his hand glued to the door handle and he felt hot. Sick, he was so sick! The toothless woman bit him and now his fever runs high. His limbs were so heavy, he could not move to help them.

The carriage was flooded by blood and bile. Sewer water dripped from above and sickness intruded again Mandus's body. Was there no way to stay clean? Does everything have to drip with fat and blood and whale oil?

"Destroy", understood Mandus. "To cure the sickness, one needs to destroy the rotten vessel."

Mandus agreed and bit his fingers, tore off the limbs and cannibalized himself whole. The sound of chewing, gulping and burping was the melody of the ascent.

Mandus woke up, cold sweat on his forehead and terribly, terribly sick.

***

Dear Mr. Mandus,

The faculty of the Academy of Natural Philosophy thanks you for your rousing and enlightening speech you have given at our humble establishment. Your ideas have ignited a fiery discussion, and will no doubt will spawn an impressive number of philosophical essays in the coming years.

Speaking of great minds, I have an inquiry to make about our mutual friend. As you entertain a close relationship with the Professor XXXX (The name is obscured by a generous amount of ink), I have wondered whether you know anything about his whereabouts?

It is most peculiar for a gentlemen like him to miss our weekly Ramtorn meetings, which he adored for it gathered the most diverse group to talk about current political and social topics. I feel hesitant to call his absence a “disappearing”, yet his empty lodgings and baffled neighbours speak for themselves.

If you have heard anything or recently seen our dear friend, please let me know.

Sincerely yours, Professor Marleybone

***

Corvo left the children's room, the abandoned crib of innocence. He tried to focus on his mission again, but the sore feeling lingered in his chest. Why was it so much harder to leave the faded memories of two dead sons than the corpses in the Flooded District? Tragedy was everywhere in Dunwall. One very soon learns to step over it.

Maybe the children reminded him of Emily. Seeing their childish uniforms, dressed like small nobles, Corvo felt that they too, were too small for the roles that were thrust upon them. Despite the fact that they were already dead, Corvo felt the unexplained urge to protect them. Maybe it is because Edwin and Enoch rested at the center of Mandus' madness and haunted this place. It felt impossible to grieve the souls, those that never really went away.

Regardless, Corvo tried to clear his mind, exploring the hidden tunnel further. He noticed that his footsteps were suddenly making a different sound. Corvo went down on his hunches and knocked against the boards. He was not fully certain, but there may have been a hollow space behind it.

A door was waiting just a few steps away. Before investigating the floor, Corvo wanted to check whether the door was closed and what lay behind it. He made a few steps forward, something clicked and the floor tipped over.

Corvo slid down on the surface and landed on his feet. Hand glowing and prepared for trouble, he looked around for enemies or danger. This was a trap… or not?

Rubbish and the same rancid oil covered the floor. A wooden ladder was leaning against the wall to the right, allowing to ascend from this place.

He examined the “trap” and found that the hinges had snapped, its metal rusted and not strong enough to hold a grown man’s weight. The sticky brown goo may have had something to do with it. The lever nearby failed to pull up the wooden floor, and the grinding sound made it clear that the hinges were indeed broken.

Well, the exit was clear and unlikely to be blocked by anyone. Corvo carefully moved forward, walking now on ceramic tiles. Empty metal tanks were standing to the right and left. Glass crunched under his footsteps. There was a green light ahead.

The green bulbs hung above the tanks with the strange liquid and shapes floating inside. The further Corvo progressed, the bigger the shapes grew until he could identify them through the thick liquid. Cat. Dog. A young foal, possibly still a foetus. Then a pig. Then human, knees pressed against chest and barely fitting inside the tank.

There was more than one example of every species. Some shapes bore similarities more than one animal. In fact, as Corvo studied them closer, almost every animals had been changed in one way or another.

The foal’s ears were crimpled and teeth sharp as a files. The cat’s tail looked like that of a rat. The human had hooves for feet and Corvo felt a shudder when he saw the distorted face, forever capturing the specimen’s horror and pain.

Something rebelled in Corvo against playing the observer once again. Someone committed these horrors, and Corvo should just shrug and walk past? Even if one cannot go back in time and stop this from happening, one can still condemn the act. Destroy the equipment. Destroy the tanks. Allow the hand to rebel against the horrors of the mind!

The corpses inside were serene and uncaring.

“When did you blade ever help anybody?” the figures asked him. “You kill and destroy for your own sake and to ease your own suffering. As for our pain… the blade can do nothing about it. But you believe that to kill and destroy is a noble thing to do…”

“I no longer do,” said Corvo.

“The corpses beg to differ. Try being more than your blade, for once, and find a way to reach the heart without destroying it.”

Corvo suddenly grew faint hearted, made a few steps and almost fell. He clung to one of the tanks and began coughing. The smell of the conserving liquid made him gall. The stuff was everywhere, the metal of the tank was sticky under his touch. It was not a good place. Corvo needed to move.

He stumbled to a door and leaned with his body weight against it.

***

The heat, oh, the heat! The scattering thoughts scald the body, the flames drain all strength from the limbs. Mandus found it hard to walk, burning up and freezing at the same time. Yet he pressed on, fighting the sickness.

He had stopped before the fireflies. The fireflies, which his both frenzied mind registered before, were in fact the openings between the furnace grates. This was the reason why he was no longer shivering from cold, surrounded by heat of the furnace

Reaching out for it, Mandus stopped himself in time. What foolishness, his hand had almost touched the hot grates. Yet the dancing flames were mesmerizing. There is power in many things, and fire is one of them. The great machines of this age are brought to life through fire, fueled with human sweat and whale oil. Even the great forests of Pandyssia thrive on heat, inducing them with marvelous strength and unbelievable growth.

Even being here, in the bleak shadows under Dunwall, Mandus could feel the heat transforming him. It could make him a giant, the fire could raise him into the skies! He felt light-headed and turned laughing away from the cloud of fireflies.

He walked between the furnaces and blinked upon seeing the stairs. Ah, he reached the excavation site. The great pyramids of Pandyssia, built by savage heathen to worship and appease the Outsider.

Mandus placed his foot on the stair and suddenly fear gripped his heart. It was dark above, so dark! Where was he going? What was waiting for him?

“Daddy!” whispered his children. They had gone ahead and climbed the pyramid. Mandus needed to get them down from there, they could get hurt!

In the oppressive heat, the climb was a painful trial. Sweat was running down Mandus’s face in streams. The body reminded him of his weakness, of the fact that he had not eaten in days. But Mandus went on, following the voices of his children.

Where were the children? Had they hidden? Mandus had reached the top but only saw bronze tubes and it hit him: Of course! It was a game!

He opened the grate and climbed inside. The metal was warm. Mandus could only crawl on all four there, but it did not bother him. What marvelous things those heathens built!

Mandus followed deliriously the voices of his children, until the metal under his hands became hotter and hotter, and the air grew harder to breathe in. Suddenly, a moment of clarity descended upon Mandus. The fat layer under his hands, the hotness… he was inside the steam pipes, was he not?

First he was stunned by the revelation, then he panicked. He scrambled on all four, hurrying to get out of here, to find an exit, unless he wanted to be boiled alive! But he had slipped and landed his on belly. Crying and feeling the blisters on his hands, Mandus raised himself and moved forward. The congealing fat lubricated the metal surface and he kept falling and squirming inside the tube, like a worm wriggling in fat and blood.

The blood had soaked their scalps, the frail eggshells of their brains were broken. The rats and worms won’t touch their sacred meat, for their father enshrined their corpses in glass. The ghosts of his children he carried back to Dunwall, and their wails coating his black heart.

The heat of Pandyssia burned Mandus, burned him still.

The hissing of the steam valves were the hateful whispers of the dead. How many children crawled through these pipes, cleaning his filth? How many cried out as the steam blistered their skin? Their voices were shouting in his ear. _Choke, pig, die here! You do not deserve better than what we endured._

Tears and sweat were running down Mandus’s face. His hands were red and fingers swollen like sausages. Yes, he was guilty! Boiling alive, the pig finally had the courage to admit what he had done.

The ghosts flayed his flesh and Mandus couldn’t deny the righteousness of their anger. All his strength was gone. Why did he come all this way? Why did Mandus not face death at the very beginning, when the assassin was standing at his gates?

“Daddy,” called out Enoch and Edwin, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…”

Mandus followed their calls, despite his pain, despite exhaustion, despite the fact that both of his children were killed by his own hand. His loved sons beckoned him and pointed to the exit, made him open the grid and fall through the hole.

Mandus hit the ground and the impact forced all the air out of his lungs. The metal floor was cold, but it did not soothe the pain. His body was swollen and sore, tortured and red. He was alive.

Mandus convulsed on the floor, his cries like those of a newborn.

***

Corvo drank greedily from the tap. The water was ice cold and he barely feel his hands. Still, Corvo meticulously scrubbed his hands and face, and even held the mask under the running water. Real purity and cleanliness was only a dream, but at least he felt better now. The dizzy spell fainted.

Crystal awake, Corvo moved on to the next room. There was nothing to do for him inside the surgery, he did not want to look at the corpses nor discover new disgusting, horrible details. This place was evil, nothing new about that.

Very soon he stumbled upon a winding staircase. It was delicate metalwork, clearly not meant for regular workers. The stair lead Corvo to a locked door below, which he kicked open. He sensed that the nearby rooms were empty, therefore there was no need for stealth.

It was a lecture hall, lined with book shelves, rows of chairs and with a small podium. Promising find. Corvo looked around to find the lightswitch. While he was comfortable in the dark, reading in complete darkness was still beyond his skills.

There it was. Near the podium was a whole row of switches, and Corvo flicked one of them. Nothing happened. He tried a few more, then simply turned them all on.

For a few more moments, there was only silence. Then the crackling of electricity, light blinded Corvo. Some schematic was projected against the wall behind the podium and then a voice boomed through the room.

“Progress demands the destruction of the old. The craftsmen of the old were eradicated by the factories of the future. One demolished whole housing blocks to drag the city into progress and let the light of electricity illuminate the streets.“

While recorded voice talked on, the slides changed accordingly. Was this what schools of tomorrow would be like? Halls without lecturers, replaced by machines that taught the masses?

“The face of Dunwall had undergone more surgeries than one can count. Sadly, the human did not keep up. Sadly, the human is susceptible to plague and war. The technological progress is meaningless if it cannot be extended to mankind. The human is the weak link in our vision of the future.”

 _The man talks_ , thought Corvo, _as humans exist to serve the machine. And as if the death of the machine is a greater tragedy than the death of a human.._

“You will say: Leave this task to the doctors and the philosophers! They will think of a cure! But they cannot cure the inborn human vulnerability. One needs a radical, permanent solution.”

A new slide appeared. A pig-man operating a machine was pictured, with many of his brethren in the background.

“The machine eliminates the need for an educated workforce. I have argued before for the benefits of self-sustaining machines and will not repeat myself. I shall only point you to the benefits that the pig creations add to our city.”

“The list is following:

One, the pigs are docile and non-aggressive. Second; they are pure as children and easily led. Third, the pigs are sturdy and even more important - absolutely immune to the plague.”

“It is evident, my measures are necessary to not only save our city - but to save our entire race.”

The recording went silent, and the slides began from the beginning.

Was it greed or indifference? Did the thirst for power lead to corruption or was it the power that corrupted him? Mandus traded physical death for mental death and called it “salvation”.

Torn from his thoughts, Corvo heard footsteps. Judging from the trembling of the floor, it was another man-pig. It burst through the door, giving Corvo no time to hide.

Corvo stared at the figure. It was as if a pig mask pulled over a human skull, leaving a morbid and comical impression. The clothes were plain, but of good quality. It reminded Corvo of the clothes that natural philosophers preferred to wear. Right now, the dress were hanging slack on the pig-man’s thin deformed body.

“What is this?” muttered the pig, squinting. He loudly sniffed the air. “ _My_ lecture… without me?!”

The pig-man turned to the right and stomped to the table next to the projector. The pig began rummaging through the table contents. Fully occupied with its search and mumbling something under its breath, it seemed to ignore Corvo.

Corvo breathed out, and creeped towards the exit. A vase shattered, having been knocked over to the floor, but the pig remained unfazed. Corvo was getting closer to the door.

With a triumphant “Aha!”, the pig fished out a pair of glasses out of a porcelain bowl and ceremoniously placed them on its head. The frame was bent and barely fit on the bloated head, but somehow the glasses stayed on. With clear focused eyes, the man-pig stared at Corvo. In the split of a second, its grimace was filled with frothing rage.

With a shrill scream and spittle flying everywhere, the man-pig threw himself at Corvo. Corvo evaded easily, letting the pig run headfirst into a cabinet. Glass shattered and crumbled to the floor. The pig’s head left a dent in the wooden surface.

Snarling, the man-pig turned around to charge again. It seemed not to notice pain, nor the blood streaming from its face. Corvo repeated the maneuver again, swiftly moving out of the pig’s way. This time the pig bounced back from the wall and tried to grab Corvo, but failed. Especially in close quarters, the difference between their speed and reflexes became more pronounced.

Although, it was hardly wise to underestimate such a fierce enemy. Still, Corvo did not wish to use Void powers against it. He needed to conserve his energy, knowing that the worst was lying ahead.

The pig seemed to learn nothing. Like a whirl storm of destruction, it raced through the room over and over again, trying to catch Corvo. Gradually, it seemed to become slower. Corvo decided to wait a few more minutes until the man-pig was exhausted, and then run for it.

Corvo did not know, whether it was him that disturbed one of the buttons on the wall, or whether it was the pig that braced the projector that kicked the slides into motion. Still focused on the scuttle, Corvo had ignored the lightshow. But the man-pig did not.

The transformation happened again. The distorted grimace changed to intelligent attentiveness, if such a thing can be said of a pig’s face expression. The man-pig adjusted its glasses - a gesture so studied, that it could have come straight from Pierro - and strode right to the wall with the projected slides.

Corvo was dumbfounded, but quickly caught himself. He began edging sideways to the exit, using the moment of distraction to escape. By now, the man-pig was standing before the empty seats. The pig frowned at Corvo, seeing his attempt to disappear from here.

“Young man!” snapped the man-pig, “Young man, sit down immediately! I will have respect in my lecture hall.”

Corvo halted. The man-pig’s seemed to grow more agitated, its breathing became faster and faster. After quick thought, Corvo decided to sit down on the nearest chair to prevent another rage fit. Additionally, he was curious to hear what the man-pig would say.

The man-pig coughed pointedly, throwing a dagger glance at the “young man”, before expertly using the wall switches to return to the first slide. Clearly, it was not the first time the man-pig had spoken here.

“Gentlemen,” began the man-pig, slowly gazing through the imagined audience, “my speech requires an open mind, just as seeds require warm soil to thrive. Remove the mental barriers, gentlemen! Tear down the walls to let in the light, for there is no other way to be illuminated.”

The man-pig paused and switched to the next slide. A pyramid with a hierarchy of water animals appeared.

“The chaos of the Void is an insidious beast, which makes abundantly clear why we need order in our society. The sky knows order, the sea knows order, the land knows order. For the sea, it’s the Leviathan that rules its kingdom. The whale is a cruel tyrant, but a ruler nonetheless. As for land, it’s the human to whose benevolent care all living things are subjected.”

Corvo smirked. To call slaughterhouses “benevolent care” was an interesting spin on the meaning of benevolent.

On the next slide, another pyramid appeared. It was a hierarchy of pigs. Corvo’s smile disappeared.

“As the rulers of the world, our task is to form and guide life to desirable outcomes. To allow chaos reign, as we allowed before, is no longer acceptable. One needs to take decisive measures and to cultivate a new society.”

Next picture. Flooded District. Mountains of bloated corpses, an all too familiar sight.

“Due to the epidemy in Dunwall, there has been a shift in population numbers. Nobles: 20% death rate. Tradesmen: 35% death rate. Workers: dying like rats. Overall, we estimate that a third of the city has died already. In another 6 months, it will be two thirds. Wait another year, and there may be nothing left but rats.”

“Due to this fact, we need to take preventive measures and to create a new society, immune to the corrupting influence of Outsider’s curses. It is no doubt, that this plague is the agent of chaos. It meant to destroy not only Dunwall, but our ideas as well for it threatens the Outsider’s influence. Do you realize how close we are to paradise? Have you become aware of the power that lies in our hands? The power to shape humankind?”

“The pig…” the man-pig stopped mid-speech, as the projector malfunctioned. The slides changed in rapid succession and the man-pigs desperate fumbling could not stop it. The pig looked away and tried to pick up its trail of thought and to continue the lecture as if nothing had happened. But all it could say were the same words: “The pig… the pig…”, each utterance sounding increasingly lost.

It grew silent. Then, the man-pig suddenly howled and grabbed his head. It swayed in front of the table, wailing monotonously. Corvo carefully stood up, it was time to go.  
“Mandus,” said the man-pig suddenly. His demeanor was calm and his words accusing. Corvo froze in mid-movement.

“I am not…” tried Corvo.

The man-pig slammed its hands against the podium.

“No lies! No games! I know that Mandus sent you!” the man-pig punctuated his words with the slamming of his hands. “What. Does. He. Want?!”

“Your assistance, of course.” The lie came smoothly. The years at court was not for naught after all.

The man-pig snorted.

“After all this time? Came begging for my help?”

“Please,” Corvo raised his hands, “you know the plan requires your expertise. I beg on behalf of my master for you to...”

“Why did he not come here himself? His delay left us vulnerable and his absence only proves his weakness. Will Mandus have another change of heart and leave us to rot? By the Void!” continued the man-pig, cold fury flashing in his eyes. “We should have started months ago! But Mandus faltered. Mandus did nothing, when he should have acted! Grabbed the city by the throat!

“Now he wants my help. How can you assure me he means it this time? Will the Machine finally speak, or will Mandus forever hide, unable to pull the switch?”

“I have come,” very softly said Corvo, “to bring salvation. I have heard the heartbeat of the Machine. Mandus and the Machine are united, speaking together to the herd. Will you be their shepherd as well, or falter under your own doubts?”

The man-pig stared grimly.

“I will not. The clause seven of the contract still holds?”

“Forgive my ignorance, for I do not remember the document by heart...”

“Rulership!” snapped the man-pig. “I demand a confirmation! Is Serkonos still to be assigned to my rule?”

“Of course,” said Corvo, keeping his voice soft, “it is in our interest that the administrators govern the places of their own choosing. Dedication… is an admirable quality. Although, may I sate personal curiosity and ask: Why Serkonos particularly?”

“It’s all whores around there,” shrugged the man-pig with the refined ignorance of a nobleman. “Also, there are some theories that I need to prove about the southern bloods and the effect of heat on temperament and mind.”

Corvo nodded slowly, as if agreeing and admiring the reasoning of another gentleman. His skin felt hot, the itch grew stronger. Why restrain from killing? Why spare a monster like him? By the Void, this man was tainted through and through.

Yet so are we all. A city full of monsters. The man-pig will not survive what comes. Corvo had so save his own soul, had to close the gates and unlearn what had made him into this.

It still felt like a mistake, and Corvo fought the black hatred in his gut.

“We have an agreement,” said Corvo to bridge the silence. His voice was strained.

“We do,” drily said the man-pig. “Now run along to your master. No more delays. Take the elevator. Should be working, despite the SHORTCOMINGS,” the last word was growled with a surprising viciousness, “ of the electrical systems in the last days, it should be working now.”

Corvo bowed and stepped lightly to where the pig had pointed. Even now, he was still fighting himself. Should he… or not?

“Run,” said the man-pig behind Corvo’s back. Fist clenched, Corvo walked out and found the elevator and pushed the button. The cage closed himself around him. Too late to go back.

Was his vow a mistake? Was it selfish to choose his morals - what a joke - instead of pragmatism? To choose his own well sake instead of doing the dirty job to serve others?

“But it did not work,” whispered a voice inside Corvo, “the dirty job only brought dirty deeds and salvation for no one.”

And leaving the monster alive only brings bitterness and pain to others. Where is the truth? Where is the path that one should take?

Corvo thought of Emily and her drawings. Did his girl already pick her path… or was she still choosing?

“May she find a better way than I did,” prayed Corvo. “May she stay her hand when I did not. May she be kind and wise, and only cruel enough to survive. Oh Jessamine, how I have failed you…”

Hot liquid was streaming down Corvo’s face and his arms were useless dead weights, unable to take off the mask and wipe away the tears.

***

Such hardship... to walk. To breathe. To think.

Who was the fool that thought to be born anew is a respite from the torture of life? There is nothing but pain in the first moments. Expunged from the hot womb to hit cold ground, bruises flowering on the skin like cattle marks.

One fights to breathe. One fights for every painful moan. One fights to stand up and to fall after the first step, for one forgot how to walk.

Every lesson needs to be relearned. Every challenge that one has mastered in the past - not soiling the bed, not biting your mother, the matter of the walk and talk - is suddenly facing you again, in all their brutal and demanding nature.

But Mandus learned. At first writhing like a maggot, Mandus eventually climbed to his feet and is transformed to a giant. The heat had melted his flesh and reforged his bones. So much was gone… and so much new was gained.

The Machine trembles under his footsteps and feels the presence of its master. The heartbeat of steel matches his own. The hissing of air valves mimics his breath and there was no mockery in this! No mockery, no, sir!

The creator fashions his creations in his own image, and Mandus sees the second truth: The creation forms its master. The Machine changed him.

Something had died inside the scorching intestines of the steam pipes. Something new was born: The man with the heart of the Machine.

***

“You weep, Corvo.”

_I know._

“Your journey will not take much longer.”

_You fail to surprise me once again, Outsider._

“Endure a few more heartbeats, Corvo. There is a gift waiting. One you will sorely need.”

_Your gifts only brought me misery… but I should stop repeating that. After all, the guilt is all mine._

“So silent, as you always were… Farewell, Corvo. Wade through the river of blood, for it is where we will meet again.”

***

The elevator opened and Corvo strode out. He was barely paying attention to the lights, the levers and humming of electrical conduits that aligned to his left and right. He was given a hint: the “river of blood” and one only needed to follow the nose to find it.

There were delays. The closet stuffed with corpses was a false lead. The attack dizziness that made Corvo slump against the wall. His powers were waning, just enough strength for one last push.

But he pushed, and pushed on. The tired feet carried him, past the machinery and offices, past the horrors and the mundane. The further Corvo went, the clearer he could hear the voice of Machine.

During the conversation with the pig, they had both talked of the Machine as an entity. But the feeling, that this thing was _alive_  came much earlier. To dismiss this notion as superstition would be madness. Outsider disliked this place for a good reason, even if that reason may be petty rivalry.

What god was being forged here? Whose voice was heard in the mechanical clanging, huffing of air valves and screaming of the metal?

“Refuse Control” turned out to be a big hall that smelled worse than fourty shitting nobles. Carts full of rotting meat and bones. The floor was slippery from fat and blood. At the end of the room, there were round holes that gaped like open mouths. The refuse was supposed slip down these pipes to… somewhere.

If there was a river of blood to be found, then most likely down these pipes. And yet, what awaited him below? Sharp blades that minced the meat? Plates that crushed the bones into powder? Corvo was not averse to dying, but hardly this way. If only he had more eyes, had one more rat corpse to scout out the way… but maybe something could be salvaged from the refuse?

Corvo walked slowly, surveying the meat carts. The idea seemed not only less and less attractive by the moments, but less feasible as well. There were eyeballs floating in that mess, but no full bodies. Besides, Corvo needed something small and relatable - a pig’s head wouldn’t do.

Something crunched under Corvo’s boot. Glancing down, he saw dark fur and blood, the two halves of rat’s body. The blood smears around the cart wheels suggested that it was driven over and split in half.

Promising find. The mutilated body was useless, but where there is one rat, there may be more.

Corvo went down on his knees, checking under the carts and in every corner. There were no living rats here - Corvo would have heard and sensed them. But corpses could be hiding anywhere, slumbering in death’s peaceful embrace.

Alerted by the smell of sharp rat piss, Corvo found the nest inside an empty crate. The rats have dug and clawed through the wood to make their refuge. Small, translucent bodies were lying among the cloth, straw and rotting food. Dead baby rats.

Corvo picked up a small corpse and rocked it in his hands.

In Coldridge, there was three types of company: his tortures, other prisoners and the rats. Out of the three, Corvo preferred the rats by far. He once woke up and saw a rat sit inches before his face, just sitting on its hindquarters.

Covered in dirt, with swollen joints and itching scars, Corvo felt a sudden pang of kinship with that vermin. This feeling never passed, not even after escaping Coldridge. Even when Corvo killed the rats, he still loved them. Perhaps, even more so after they were dead.

The baby rat’s eyes were still closed, and Corvo could simply pull up the gaze from the darkness of its pupil. Instead he placed his thumbs above the small chest, and imagined its heart beating. Beating. Beating. Pumping blood as dark as the night and coming alive.

The body twitched. Corvo stroked gently the rat, while walking over to the steel tubes. He sat down the animal on the metal surface and then slightly pushed it, to accelerate its descent.

The rat was soon slick from fat and blood, and slipped down the tube as if covered in oil. The thrill of the fast fall made Corvo’s heart beat faster. The tube winded itself like a snake, but there were no barriers, no spinning blades, nothing that would prevent Corvo from taking the same path….

The rat was plunged in wetness. There was nothing to hold on. Suffocating and panicking, Corvo clawed himself to the surface. The air smelled like iron, and carried shrill screams from the distance.

The rat managed to find a pile of organic matter, on which it could rest. Yes, thought Corvo, you deserve rest. Your work is done.

Corvo climbed inside the tube, holding on to the upper edges. Looking inside the blood-covered steel throat, one couldn’t help but feel unease. Corvo hesitated and listened to the rat. The small animal was blind, but it sensed no living being in immediate surroundings.

As for what was lying ahead… the pigs were screaming and singing and calling. A congregation waiting for their god.

Corvo let go the edge and allowed himself to fall. It was an unpleasant slide, that covered his whole body in filth and bruised his elbows. Soon enough, it was over.  
He landed on his feet. The blood splashed in all directions and Corvo slowly raised himself in full height.

A river of blood swapped around his feet. It was hard to walk and his footsteps were slow and measured. Corvo passed the heap of meat and the small rat on it, heading towards the voices of the man-pigs. It almost sounded like a conversation, almost like a song.

It felt almost as if Corvo was being called.


	5. Chapter 5

The world and its vain trappings felt foreign to Mandus. The polished Serkonian wood floor under his feet, the finest glass of the famous Vailian artisans set inside the wooden barriers and the pride he once felt at acquiring them - what for? What was the sense in it? We live and die in shit, puking and retching blood on the way to our grave.

Mandus traced the glass with his fingers, trying to grasp the fading memories of the past. Prestige and comfort was enough for him, enough leave the blind pig of a man satisfied. How good that he discarded these illusions. No use in pretending to be a better man, a better animal compared to the others.

There is nothing good in this world. The egg was rotten from within, the maggots writhed inside the shell, a collective nightmare they could not snap from. The maggots clinged to the shell, screaming “The shell is precious! It is good!” and refused to accept the mercy Mandus was about to give them.

But break the shell, and nothing of worth will have been lost. The new world will be better because it will be free of lies. It will be a world free of choices and governed by steel. Mandus could envision it perfectly. Beautiful and repulsive at the same time. The stinking child screaming in pain. The trashing birth. The river of blood streaming between the legs of the dead mother.

The new world is Pig and it is the only way they can be saved.

Cold droplets of condensation ran along Mundus' fingertips and down his wrist. A flash of the past: Lily smiles at him in the rain - “It’s just water” - Enoch soaked through but not minding, carrying a furry thing - “Papa, can we keep the squirrel?”.

Mandus’ gaze was hazy for a moment, he could not see where he was going. It was so clear, his reflection was just moments ago meeting his unflinching gaze, but now he was blinded again. Mandus fought for control, focusing on the beat of his heart.

Slowly, he stood up in full height, a spine of steel and heart of metal. There. The Machine spoke again.

“We shall ascend.”

“Soon,” agreed Mandus.

“No more faltering.”

“Never was and never will be.”

A shout rang out in the distance. Mandus felt united with the Machine as if they were looking at the same time in the same direction.

“The assassin,” spit out Mandus.

“Will be dealt with,” reassured the Machine. “The trap is sprung.”

“I will be there when he dies.”

“In person?”

“In person.”

“Then hurry, Mandus. You are running out of time, as is the assassin.”

***

Ahead, there was shouting and light. It blinded and hurt his eyes, but it was not the only reason why Corvo’s mind was befuddled. Had he walked here before? It felt familiar and terrible, like a memory of the past and premonition of the future at the same time.

The blood swept around his feet. Ah, this was what this long walk reminded him of. Corvo had waded through the sewers when he had entered the factory.

Yet it did not explain why grief flooded over him and why Corvo suddenly wanted to weep. Ahead was loss and darkness, but it was impossible to turn back. Emily needed him. The city needed him.

But duty was no comfort. It was another weight pressing down on him. The cold had seeped into his bones. Corvo looked ahead and felt afraid. What else will the Outsider take from him? Was it not enough? Will nothing be enough to undo what he has done?

Corvo didn’t take off the mask to wipe away the tears. The enemy was near. They did not need to see his weakness.

Walking slowly through the red fluid, Corvo felt as if he was barely moving forward. But there - lifting his gaze, Corvo noticed the pigs were already above him, standing on the metal walks. Their eyes glistened in the dark, watching as Corvo waded through the blood canal. These were merely the outcroppings, a pig here and a pig there, while the main gathering was still waiting for him ahead.

The noise grew louder. The horde was throwing wild dancing shadows and their squeals sounded like shrill laughter. A mimicry of celebration, a perversion of joy. The man-pigs fought and snarled at each other, before joining the same bloodthirsty chant. Corvo could almost hear out individual words, but none made sense.

The light almost reached Corvo now. The blood assumed an intense hue of red, almost glowing. Corvo walked on.

The pigs were frenzied and distracted and noticed Corvo only moments later. The noise grew quieter and quieter, as more pigs processed what their eyes were seeing. In the unexpected sudden silence, Corvo was acutely aware of the sound of his footsteps. Splosh. Splosh. An assassin, walking through a river of blood. Corvo had no smile to spare for the irony of the fact.

The stares of the pigs followed Corvo. The man-pigs shuffled, breathed noisily and squealed from time to time, but it only reinforced the silence and the feeling of dread. Coming here was a mistake, but Corvo did not stop.

Somewhere in the distance, a door was loudly banged shut. As if it was a signal, the pig horde fell into a frenzy and howled as one. Corvo almost flinched, almost froze hearing the hatred and malice in their voices. Hundreds of pigs were screaming in triumph and fury, shouting down at Corvo and awaiting his fall. But Corvo did not flinch and did not stop.

Then, after a few more steps, Corvo could see the end of the tunnel and a lone figure waiting above. Oswald Mandus.

“Mandus!” shouted Corvo, trying to be pierce through the screams of the horde.

The figure did not seem to hear. Corvo accelerated his step. He needed to reach Mandus, before something snatched this opportunity away from him.

Struggling forward, Corvo could see Mandus more clearly. His expression was ponderous, that of a man staring melancholically into the sunset and thinking of life. But the cruelty in the set jaw and cold eyes belied it. His clothes were fitting him well. Dirt and blood stains covered the fabric, the clothes of a once wealthy and self-satisfied men.

“Mandus!” shouted Corvo again. “I came to speak to you!”

Miraculously, those words sounded just as the horde was catching its breath. Their weaker squeals could not suppress the message. Mandus focused his gaze on Corvo, as if seeing him fully for the first time.

Raising a hand, Mandus managed to command silence to the horde.

“Speak?” The voice sent chills through Corvo. There was something lurking behind Mandus’ eyes… “It is too late for that. But I am gracious guest and have a counter-proposal. Since you killed Lady Boyle during a party, I assumed you would enjoy festivities and I brought you a crowd. I assume you have a fondness for music as well, since you waited for the music to stop before sinking in the blade.”

“Dance, Corvo, for I have brought you music.”

Corvo heard the first notes, and the chilling realization made him freeze in his tracks. It was an Overseer’s music box…

“Dance!”

The floor, which Corvo assumed to be solid, jerked forward under his feet. The conveyor belt was carrying him towards the hole ahead. The path back was blocked by waving spears and blades. But even standing still, Corvo was not in safety. A long blade almost cut his shoulder, and there were others trying to poke holes into his body.

Corvo was evading the blows, frantically trying to come up with a plan. Run back? Only if he wanted to come out as mince meat on the other side. Climb up while the pigs shove you back and poke you with steel? Try to jump and reach the walk where Mandus was standing? No, that jump was impossible. What was waiting ahead of him, inside the hole?

The conveyor brought him near enough to catch a glimpse. Moving blades. Mince meat. There was no way out.

Corvo tried to pull himself together. He danced back through the flailing weapons, aiming to get some distance between the hole. The knee-deep blood hindered his movements, while the mind struggled to think over the torturous music. Is this what it comes to?

“Dance! You can dance better than…” The rest was cut off by the shouts of the pigs.

Corvo looked up at Mandus - so close, so close! - and felt despair. Death did not frighten Corvo, but he had not come so far to fail!

“Mandus,” shouted Corvo. “Mandus, listen to me!”

The man-pigs screamed and squealed and mocked him. Mandus was not looking at Corvo properly, as if his mind was elsewhere.

“There is a way! We can still save them!” Even as the words left his lips, Corvo knew he was not heard.

“Our lives do not matter! Our deeds do not matter! We can still forge a future!”

Mandus shook with laughter and his voice easily carried above the horde squeals:

“Look, a dancing rat! Dance, dance!”

There it was again, something lurking behind his eyes. Corvo recognized it. Then he felt pain. The blow made Corvo stagger, almost made him fall, but it was insignificant. With the blood running down his temple, Corvo regained balance and made a step forward.

“Mandus, I understand! Your loss is mine as well! But blood will not sate your grief. Mandus, we can save them!”

The hole was close. Mandus was staring at him from above, not seeing Corvo. It was as if Mandus was all alone with his thoughts and the river of blood.

“I understand,” said Corvo again. “I understand. But your heart still beats and you need to listen.”

Mandus opened his mouth, and Corvo was reminded of the Pendleton twin - Morgan had died with the same expression. As if trying to figure out the right reaction to a blade in your chest. As if trying to remember how to say goodbye.

“They have forgiven you, Mandus.”

The haze behind Mandus’ eyes cleared. Gripping the railing, Mandus leaned forward to meet Corvo’s gaze. But a blow hurled Corvo forward, he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his back. He stumbled into the hole.

The blades were glistening like interlocking teeth, and Corvo stretched out a hand as if to soften the fall. Fingers being cut up and crushed - then dragging in the rest of his arm - then his head - the pain - the torture.

The Machine swallowed Corvo whole.

***

The midnight bell rang out, the sound carrying even to the fortress of the Regent. The former Regent, of course. As for the new proprietors...

Daud was staring across the riverbank. The fire had seemed in the die down last half of an hour, but now new houses were set aflame. The Artisan quarter may not survive the night. Will Dunwall survive this month, this week?

“Sir.”

A familiar shadow appeared at his side.

“Report.”

“Martin and Havelock had a shoot-off, but made a tentative alliance after it became clear that neither was dying tonight. Pendleton is dead drunk and sleeping it off, having locked himself up in his chamber. All in all, a rather quiet night.”

“The wine?”

“I checked: no poison. We keep an eye on what comes into the Tower and what substances could get smuggled in.”

“Good. As for Emily?”

“Unharmed.” Billie added seconds later: “It’s been silent ever since she stopped crying.”

Daud nodded. The flames were rising higher and higher. The quarter was as good as lost. It was still a better sight than looking at Billie. His gaze was always inevitably drawn to the arm stump. Yes, betrayal needed to be punished - and it was better than taking her arm rather than her life...

But he found it harder to face Billie after what he has done. At least, she had no reason to try to kill him now. In a few days, the command will be hers. One way or another.

Out of the corner of the eye, Daud saw that Billie joined him and was looking over the city. The red glow of the flames reflected in the Whaler mask. Daud doubted, that Billie would feel triumph when he was gone. As for Daud, he felt very little these days himself.

“Your shift is over.”

Billie’s mask was inscrutable.

“You can’t send me away, old man.”

“I can and I am. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Slowly, Billie’s figure withdrew into the shadows and disappeared.

He had often wondered what was going on inside Billie’s head, but now the interest had subsided to a faint whisper. Every of his senses felt dull and there was no wish left, except for this all to be finally over.

Daud looked over to the river and noticed that the fire was apparently dying. Dunwall might not burn down tonight. Perhaps, not even this week.

Absent-mindedly rubbing his chin, Daud was displeased by the thick stubble that he had grown. There was little in ways of comfort here, squatting in the maintenance ducts and on the edges of the fortress walls. Sleep was in short supply, as were shaving razors and mirrors. Granted, the lack of mirrors may even be a boon, considering...

Daud unbuttoned his collar, and let a hand glide over his neck. It was still there, pulsing and dark. No ordinary tattoo could be felt with bare fingers - but this one did.

Darkness under his fingers, Daud was reminded of the meeting that brought it to life.

_Flung against a wall, Daud was almost dazed enough to drop his sword. But not enough. The cuts were bleeding, his ribs were bruised and the sword arm felt weak ever since Corvo’s swarm of rats to gnaw it off._

_But he was still an assassin and could face down even Death. It was only too bad, that Corvo seemed to surpass even that._

_Daud dodged when Corvo fell on him from the air, the blade piercing the wallpaper. Then it was Daud’s turn to transverse - except Corvo anticipated where Daud would reappear. The blow to gut was unexpected and drove out all the air from his lungs._

_The sword was wrangled from Daud’s grip and then Daud was held up by his throat. It was a shocking and unusual sensation - to be helpless and utterly at someone’s mercy._

_“Call off your assassins,” said the man behind the mask. It was the first time that Daud had heard him speak._

_Daud made a weak hand gesture. The shadows around them, lurking in the broken apartment, pulled back. Daud could feel every single one of them and counted them. Seven. Even if they attacked at once, Daud would still be dead in the blink of an eye._

_Corvo’s mask glistened in the moonlight. It fit him so well._

_“Wise decision,” said Corvo and then bashed Daud against the wall. “Only too bad it is the only right decision you’ve made in the last years.”_

_“Get it over with,” growled Daud. His vision was growing blurry, but death was better than being toyed with._

_Corvo made a noise, Daud didn’t know whether it was a snort or a chuckle. Daud slipped down to the floor, as Corvo released his grasp. It was not much an improvement of a situation, since Corvo’s blade was now gently pressing down his throat._

_“Did you know that the city is dying?” asked Corvo. It was a question that did not require an answer._

_Removing the mask, Corvo shook his head to get the hair out of his face and looked at Daud with a bitter smile._

_“So am I, Daud.”_

_The tears looked black in the moonlight. Corvo was weeping blood._

_“A week ago, I would have killed you. A month ago, I would have made sure your death would be a slow one. But now…” Corvo’s voice turned soft, “things have changed as have I.”_

_Daud watched the man as one might watch a dangerous animal, failing to understand what Corvo was getting at._

_“You will do something for me, Daud.” Corvo’s eyes looked almost black in this light. “I’m not giving you a choice. You will find Emily, protect her and make sure she ascends the Empress’ throne.”_

_The choking noise Daud made surprised even himself. Then he laughed._

_“That desperate, Corvo? Are you truly this desperate?”_

_“I may be,” said Corvo quietly._

_“What makes you think I will really do it?”_

_“Quite easy,” said Corvo and pulled Daud up by his collar. “As said, I am not giving you choice. I will put a spell on you, which will act even through my death. If Emily dies or fails to become the Empress, you will die. If she lives to rule Dunwall, you will leave the city and survive.”_

_“There is no way such spell can be crafted,” snorted Daud. “And even if there was, you don’t have the skill for it. You need to invent a better threat than that."_

_“You forget, Daud,” Corvo smiled widely, “you forget, that the Outsider smiles upon me! He may feign neutrality, but I am the only toy he is not done playing with just yet. The snare I place around your neck, he has helped created, and he will pull it close if you break your promise.”_

_“A promise I have not yet made,” growled Daud_

_“But you will. If not, you will weep with the city.”_

_Corvo leaned in close, almost touching Daud. Corvo’s breath smelled of blood and of sickness, his eyes were dark and calm. He was not mad. But he was indeed going to pass on the Plague to Daud if Daud refused the deal._

_“You know it won’t change anything,” said Daud. “Whether Regent or Empress, this will all end in death.”_

_“I do not care.” Corvo’s eyes looked as hollow as those of his mask. “I only need you to promise me that you will everything in your power to protect Emily Kaldwin and help her climb the throne.”_

_Daud became acutely aware of the Whaler eyes watching him. There was more of them now, two dozen deadly and hand-picked assassins. They could attempt to kill Corvo, and might even succeed._

_But Daud did not want to kill Corvo. It was meant to happen the other way around._

_Nothing in the world happens as it should. Daud should have learned it a long time ago._

_“I promise you, Corvo. I will watch Emily become the new Empress.”_

_Corvo nodded and grasped Daud’s throat. His fingernails sunk deep into the skin, and Daud felt something moving under his skin. Instinctively, he tried to fight and struggle against Corvo, but found that his body merely twitched and refused to obey him._

_In panic, Daud felt a snake curl itself around his neck, sink in her teeth and then… slowly fall asleep._

_“It is done, Daud. It is time…”_

“Sir, it is time for my shift.”

Gill had snapped Daud out of his thoughts. One of the few remaining Whalers, all that is left of their once high numbers.. Daud nodded at Gill as farewell, and spared one last glance for the Wrenhaven river.

Three days, had said Corvo. He would come back in three days. If not, then they were to stage the coup themselves.

The sun was rising in the distance, nothing a slim sliver of distant light. It announced the breaking of the third day.

There was not much time left for Corvo to return.

***

“It is done, Mandus.”

Mandus did not respond. The man-pigs were following him in respectful distance. The sound of their footsteps covered his own. Mandus felt invisible, felt as if he was a ghost.

“We have defeated Death! It is time for triumph!”

“Not until I reach the Heart,” responded Mandus. “It is not over until I restart the Heart and set the final steps in motion.”

“Of course,” jubilantly agreed the Machine. “Soon… so soon… we will forge the world anew.”

The metal screeched as the elevator days opened. Mandus entered it alone and pushed the button. The man-pigs disappeared from his sight. They looked lost like children.

The Machine said voiced last guidance, which Mandus did not hear.

When the metal voice faded, Mandus’ composure faltered. He leaned against the elevator door and gripped hard his jacket, the place right where his heart once was. Why.. oh why did it have to hurt so much? He thought the torture was over. He thought that everything that hurt was dead by now.

Eyes closed, Mandus summoned the image of the new world. Nothing will hurt. There will be no wars, no famine and no plague. The Machine will care for them. There will be no more freedom and no more pain. The world will be pig and the world will be a machine.

The Machine for Pigs will save them.

But nothing could save him, Mandus felt it. It was too late for him and yet, it did not matter. The ascent of the Pigs was inevitable just as the interlocking of cog teeth and the grinding of bone. A new age was beginning.

Mandus would carry out his duty. The death of his children was not to be in vain, even if the world had to die to give it meaning.

***

Corvo’s body felt weightless. The Void’s empty blue mirrored the blankness of his mind. Only his restless instincts disturbed the peace. There was something wrong here, and Corvo could not banish the inquisitive thought from his mind.

It had struck Corvo, that he no longer felt pain.

Corvo lay in wonder at the sensation. It had been so long since he felt whole. The exhaustion, the fear, the wounds of mind and body were all gone. It filled Corvo with such mirthful wonder, which he had not felt ever since he was a child.

Suddenly, he felt tears roll down his face. Corvo did not need to see them, to know that they were red.

The Void could not shield him from the truth. With a shiver, Corvo awoke from promise of death.

His consciousness almost fled again to the safety of the Void, confronted with the broken vessel it was forced to inhibit. It hurt so much… all of it was hurting all at once. Corvo sobbed out in pain and then screamed in anger at the injustice of it, in fury that the torture would never stop.

When he could no longer scream, Corvo shook in bitter silent laughter. He lived. Despite how much he wished it wasn’t true, he had lived.

He looked at his hand and could not believe what he saw. Corvo lifted the mangled arm and was amazed that it still attempted to obey him. There was no skin left, the bone of his finger knuckles was shining through the frayed muscles. The Outsider’s mark was gone as well. Somehow, that discovery shook him more than the mutilation of the arm.

With the other arm, Corvo tentatively touched his face. It was mostly whole, the mask must have protected him - the mask that was nowhere to be seen anymore. Suddenly, his finger went through a wound in his cheek and he could feel his teeth.

Even feeling the horrible pain, Corvo’s mind could not comprehend the scope of his injuries. It felt impossible to accept that there was a bloody hole in his cheek. It was ridiculous. It was impossible.

It was impossible, that he had survived. Corvo remembered the swarm of rats that scudded and died around him, that space warped and twisted like purple silk around himself, but as much Outsider bended the rules, he could not break them. The injuries were many, some shallow and some deep. Some would have healed and not left a trace in a few months and other would have crippled his body forever - but neither should matter, as Corvo was to die in a few days anyway.

But even as it shouldn’t matter, it mattered to Corvo. His body was… violated, torn to shreds. Even knowing what the intervention and rescue must have cost the Outsider, Corvo could not help feeling bitter instead of grateful.

Time made a misstep and the world stop turning. Speaking of the bastard, there he was.

The Outsider stepped into the world, lingering above sewer water. As always, he looked politely curious and vaguely amused. It could have felt insulting, to be observed like this, but the Outsider always carried himself with a humble attentiveness. Pride was for emperors and kings - the Outsider had no use for it.

Corvo waited for him something to say. Conversation was not something you enjoyed while in terrible pain, it was merely a thing to be endured.

“Have you made your peace, Corvo?”

Corvo shook the head and froze immediately as even the slight motion caused nausea and piercing pain.

“Not until I’m finished here,” hoarsely said Corvo. Even the few simple words made his ribs ache like mad. When will the Outsider just go and leave him be?

“What does ‘finished’ imply, Corvo? You never shared what your end goal was.”

Corvo flung open his eyes and stared at the Outsider. Was he being mocked? It was the Outsider who sent him here, it was him who had a plan! What was Corvo? Just a puppet in foreign hands! Just an idiot stumbling through a dying city!

The anger flared up and then died. Corvo closed his eyes, too tired to talk.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and being gently pulled up. When Corvo blinked, he found himself once again in the Void. He was sitting in a chair, below was a garden with a marble stair leading to it. The water streaming from burst pipes gave the illusion of a distant, upside-down waterfall.

“I apologize. I chose an ill time and place to speak with you. The time could not be helped, but I could have picked the proper place right away. I hope you will find it easier to concentrate here, Corvo.”

Corvo left the comment unremarked upon. Staying in the Void did not only dull the pain, but his other emotions as well. The mind realized that it was all a dream - a realistic one, but a dream nonetheless - and considered it all to be really quite curious, just not terribly important.

It was the reason why Corvo did not snap at the Outsider. Even as frustrated and angry he was, the emotions did not reach their full intensity.

“I hope,” said Corvo, “that this is not a visit of courtesy or, if it is one, that it will be a short one. I don’t have the patience to entertain you, Outsider. If you have something to say, speak. But I will not sate your idle curiosity or answer questions of no importance...”

The Outsider appeared before Corvo, a dark flash that cut off Corvo’s sentence. It signaled displeasure, despite however calm Outsider appeared.

It surprised Corvo. Just a week ago, when Corvo found Emily gone and discovered how deep the Plague was rooted in his body, Corvo had hated the Outsider with all his heart and thrown insults of the worst kind at him. Even attempted to throttle, kill, destroy him. Outsider remained untouched by word or deed. At worst, Outsider was disappointed, but never upset.

But now there was an intensity to Outsider’s words that Corvo rarely heard before.

“I am the Outsider and my home is the Void. The words that you dismiss, the questions that you do not hear, you should have paid attention to. Many of them could have been a greater boon than any of the powers I gave you, if you had known to listen to them.”

“Alas, I failed,” said Corvo. “Why bother even talking to me if am as ignorant as you say?”

“If there is no hope and all ends in death, why you still bother moving forward, Corvo?”

Corvo stayed silent. The Outsider was - as always - maddeningly right.

Sighing, Corvo stood up from the chair and walked around the platform. He found it easier to gather his thoughts, when he did not have to meet the Outsider’s gaze directly.

“You know well that I went after Mandus because I was grasping after straws. I had no plan, nothing except for the lead you gave me. I could not imagine how this place or the man could possibly help me.”

Corvo rubbed his chin and then examined his hands. They were whole. It seems the mind did not accept new reality even now. Shaking his head, Corvo turned his gaze back to the Void.

“I had hoped, that… there was no reason to believe it, no signs that would point towards it, and yet the hope still lingered that I might… I had thought, that maybe this place harbored the cure. I thought I could go back to Emily once I found it.”

Corvo breathed out evenly and closed his eyes.

“There was never a cure. You sent me here to die and fulfill one of your last whims. Perform one last play before I fade away.”

Without turning around, Corvo knew that Outsider would slightly shake his head. Not as much denying, but expressing the disappointment over the fact that Corvo was once again _not understanding_.

“But as much your games are meant to entertain you, you always give everyone chance to succeed. You saw a possibility for me to win, saw that I could accomplish something important. Something that would matter to me and Emily, something that could maybe even save the city.”

“You’re a bastard and cold as stone, I hate your games as much as I hate you. But I will play this until the end. I will find Mandus, I will find the Heart of the Machine. And then, most likely, I will fail.”

Corvo turned on his heel and faced the Outsider.

“I cannot kill him. But I cannot save him either. You know that I am doomed, don’t you?”

The Outsider bowed his head, but not in confirmation. He was content, perhaps even triumphant. His ink eyes were intense as fire.

“Corvo, I have nothing more to say and no more questions to ask, but I will request a favour. It will be my last demand of you.”

_“Deliver my gift.”_

Corvo hesitatingly accepted what lay on Outsider’s outstretched hands. It was cold, but not dead.

In that moment, Corvo finally understood.

****

The clouds were hanging heavy and dark above Dunwall. Daud heard the bells ring out noon, but it was gloomy enough to be dusk.

A Whaler transversed into his sight and Daud impatiently stepped forward.

“Report.”

“The matter is dealt with. Pendleton attempted to drag out Emily to his chamber, but only got as far as the doorway. Got a fork through his hand for the trouble, and he was lucky Emily did not bite off a finger as well.” The Whaler sounded amused. Daud couldn’t fault him. None of the Loyalists were easy to like. “Martin got there in time to attempt kill Pendleton, but we took measures that none of the bullets would hit the target. Eventually, Pendleton managed to escape to safety.”

The Whaler couldn’t keep worry out of his voice as he added:

“We are not sure how long this can keep up. Our intervention might have made Martin suspect something. He’s an Overseer and familiar with powers as ours. If he brings in an Overseer’s box, we will be forced to take direct measures.”

“Keep an extra eye on him."

“Yes, sir. But the others as well… we can’t keep them forever from each other’s throats.”

“Forever won’t be necessary. Only until this evening, and then…”

No need to finish. His men understood. Shorty nodding and raising a fist to the chest as farewell, the Whaler disappeared.

Daud turned to riverside, not sure why. He wouldn’t be able to recognize Corvo’s boat from here. Was not even sure, whether Corvo was alive at this point.

This business dragged on and on. A noose was tightening around his neck and there was nothing Daud could do. It was the inevitability that pissed him off. He would kill men, fight fate and struggle until the end of his life - except all those options were taken from him.

Daud wanted change. Daud wanted release. He thought once he wanted death, but now Daud knew that it wasn’t true.

It could not end this way. Corvo needed to come back.

***

The elevator doors opened. The air felt sharp and stale at the same time and reminded Mandus of entering an ancient tomb. When he stepped out, his steps came back as an echo.

The chamber was gigantic. Mandus carefully treaded on the suspended catwalk, trying to see what the darkness hid. If he were to fall from this height… no, it was impossible. Mandus always built things to last and the steel cables could impossibly have corroded in this short time.

It was hard not to feel awed in this moment. On the far end, loomed the outlines of a circular machine. Mandus spied the giant wheels, tubes of chemicals, interlocked gears, all assembled in an impossible fashion. The complexity equaled beauty. The majesty equaled righteousness. The steel equaled immortality.

Mandus was no longer scared. He only need a small push to tip his mind back into confidence. Now, Mandus felt like weeping in joy at the sight of the Heart, but, strangely, he could not muster real tears.

By now Mandus was close enough see the lights on the console and the levers they illuminated. It summoned a memory of how to activate the Heart, a perfectly clear set of instructions. It would be as easy as writing his own name on a piece of paper.

Suddenly, the catwalk shook under a blow and Mandus struggled for balance for a few moments. Turning in alarm, Mandus saw a dark shape near the elevator and felt the metal taste of fear in his mouth. No, he should be dead!

The assassin rose in full height. Mandus ran.

Gripping the railing, to avoid falling despite the shaking catwalk, Mandus ran towards the console. Start the Heart and everything will be fine. The nightmare will be over. The assassin was far behind, Mandus had just enough time…

When the console was mere steps away, sudden darkness coalesced to form the shape of a man. Mandus almost ran into Corvo, but shrank back in shock.

It was over.

Corvo made a step forward and Mandus stepped back.

Corvo's mask was gone, but what lay underneath was worse. Blood streamed from his eyes, but his face was serene. Even in the darkness, Mandus saw that Corvo was severely injured, but he did not show it. It was like seeing a walking corpse come after you. A reckoning, from which there was no escape.

"Why now? I was so close... so close..."

Corvo made a step forward and Mandus stepped back.

"What difference will it make, if you kill me and silence the Machine? Death and damnation for us all, either way!"

The elevator doors closed and a small bell rang. The elevator had been summoned upward. Mandus was sure, that the Machine had sensed something wrong, as it was linked close with him, and now was going to send help.

"It will start either way, Corvo! The Machine is alive and it's stronger than you think. It does not need me... but if I guide it, it will be better! Better for all of us."

Corvo made a step forward and Mandus stepped back.

"Mandus," said Corvo. His voice was very quiet and hoarse. "I did not come to talk."

Mandus flinched when Corvo raised his hands. But the expected blow never came, instead there was something glistening in Corvo's outstretched arms. Mandus could not make out what it was supposed to be.

"Take it," said Corvo.

There was a moment of hesitation.

"I am not giving you a choice," said Corvo.

Mandus finally grabbed the thing and held it in shaking hands. It was cold, fleshy and with metal poking through. Disgusting and ugly to look. Then it twitched in his hands, almost making him drop it. It twitched again, a beat regular as that of a heart.

Two voices rang out in his mind:

"Daddy!/Daddy! You found us./You found us."

Numb and quiet, Mandus fell to his knees. He stroked with fingers the ugly stitches, that held the two hearts together. It pulsed in his hands, defenseless and small.

The world stopped to matter. Mandus held the hearts of his dead children and began weeping in pain.

"Daddy, please./Daddy, please. Do not cry./Do not cry. We're here./We're here."


	6. Epilogue

The storm that raged outside made the lighthouse windows tremble. The electrical lights flickered, but Mandus did not worry. He had preemptively set up candles on the table and lit them to prepare for the possibility a blackout.

Despite the howling wind outside, it was quiet inside the main hall. Quiet enough for Mandus to hear the creaking of a door.

He stacked mashed potatoes and beans on the fork and guided it to his mouth. The stealthy steps were impossible to hear, with the storm making a racket outside, but Mandus knew with certainty that someone was approaching.

He put down the knife and fork and lifted a napkin to pat his lips. Without turning away from the plate, Mandus said:

“Good evening, Emily Kaldwin. I had hoped we would get a chance to speak today.”

Only then did he raise his gaze. There she was. A small girl in white, standing at the far end of the table. Her tense posture suggested that she was gripping something, holding it where Mandus couldn’t see. A knife was missing from the table.

The girl had the look of a person who had been scared and miserable for a long, long time... but not any more. The bitterness hardened her face, made her look older than she was. But it was the fury in her eyes that made Mandus wonder whether he had come too late.

What was Emily seeing? A tall dining room, an illuminated festive table and shadows creeping in the corners. What did Mandus look like to her? He knew that the air of cruelty clung to him like a sewer stink and that it would take years to wash out the blood from his finger nails.

No, Emily Kaldwin was not going to like Mandus. But even as she eyed him warily, it was the slumped body which had captured her attention.

“Yes,” confirmed Mandus, “you have probably gauged from the uniform, that this is Admiral Havelock. Unconscious and likely to remain so until the very morning.”

When Emily made a step towards Havelock, Mandus raised a hand in appellation.

“Please. No need for rash decisions. As the Empress, you will decide what comes next for him  and the rest of the traitors. Whether a public execution or exile… your decree as an Empress will settle their fate.”

“Who are you?” demanded to know Emily. “Who do you think _you are_? Try to tell me what to do and I will… I am the Empress! I will be the Empress and I will not listen to some fat old man telling me what to do!”

“My name is Oswald Mandus and I understand, that you have little reason to listen to me.” Mandus put a hand inside his vest and pulled out a audiograph. He let the slip of cardboard slide across the table, to arrive right in front of Emily. “This message, though, will give you reason to. Please play it before making your final judgement.”

“I am the Empress,” repeated the girl.

Mandus nodded and returned to his meal. Out of the corner of the eye, he saw Emily tentatively pick up the audiograph and turn it in her hands.

“You all think,” said Emily very slowly, “that Empresses are puppets.”

Something made Mandus look up and meet Emily’s piercing gaze.

“Put an Empress on a throne and you think you can dress her up, talk in her voice and tell her what to do. You’re wrong! I’m nobody’s puppet! I can just tear up this smelly piece of cardboard and--”

“Don’t.” Mandus harsh tone made Emily flinch and make a step backwards. “You will not do that, Emily Kaldwin. Or you will lose the last recording of Corvo Attano’s voice.”

Emily’s eyes widened and silence reigned the room.

“You’re lying,” said Emily.

Mandus motioned with a fork to the right.

“The audiograph player is over there. Hear the truth for yourself.”

Distant thunder rolled outside. Mandus went back to his meal.

The girl refused to move, struck either by indecision, fear or distrust. It did not worry Mandus. Resisting the urge to hear the voices of loved ones was something only very few people had the power to. His hand moved almost on its own accord, moved inside the vest the caress the cold flesh.

“The Whalers watch us./The Whalers watch us.”

A threat or a promise of protection, wondered Mandus.

“Eyes dark./Hearts cold./Daddy, had they always been this?/Daddy, could they become more?”

“Maybe,” thought Mandus. He closed his eyes and let the hand linger on the hearts. Nothing could warm their clam flesh, but how strong was their heartbeat! How clear their voices! Mandus’ hand kept sneaking inside the vest to touch them, remind himself that they were alive.

Alive, in some way. Dead, in many others. Shame eventually forced Mandus to redraw his hand.

The crackling of the audiograph player alerted Mandus to Emily’s choice. Still leaning back in his chair, he peeked at her. Much depended on her reaction. The girl was standing turned to the audiograph and with her back towards Mandus.

“Emily, I do not know where to start.”

The girl twitched, hearing her name said by someone she loved.

“My victory is bitter when I cannot hold you in my arms. No one to blame but myself, and yet you will bear my consequences of my mistakes.”

Corvo barked out a laugh, a canned sound coming from the audiograph.

“Mistakes! No, let me name it what it was: murder. I have brought ruin to the city and am as much to blame as the scheming villains that killed your mother. They began the horror and I helped to make it worse.”  

Emily was shaking her head, whispering “No, no, no…”.

“I am sorry, Emily. I’ve failed you.”

“Everyone else failed, you didn’t,” stubbornly argued Emily.

“Already, you have learned too much from me. I fear I poisoned you as my blade poisoned the city. I know I’ll pay for what I’ve done… already am paying.”

The recording was interrupted by the sound of long, pained coughing. Mandus saw, how Emily drew up her shoulders, as if trying to hide from its implications.

“The blood won’t stop coming… I don’t have much time, Emily. My death approaches with every hour.”

“But to the Void with it!” angrily exclaimed Corvo. “What matters is that you need to live.” Corvo’s voice was intense as a wildfire. “You need to live better than me. I ruined the city by thinking that cruelty is the only way. But I see I was wrong. I need you to do a miracle, Emily.”

“I need you to save the city. Be only as cruel as to survive, and just as kind as to save them. Be wise, where I was rash. Have patience, where I had none.”

“If I was there, I could try to help you find your way. But tomorrow I will be dead, and you’ll be the new Empress. I did what I could and it was not enough. Yet before my death, I accomplished one last worthy deed.”

“Mandus. Oswald Mandus will assist you in your reign as the Empress.”

Emily sharply turned around. Suspicion, rage, pain in her eyes.

“He is a man with a past. Like me, he is trying to atone for what he’s done. For what it’s worth, he will never betray you.”

“I know it’s not enough, Emily. I know I’ve done not nearly enough. But I have a request to you, the last request before my death. Please, listen to his advice. You can do as you wish in the end, for you are the Empress, but do not send him away from your side.”

Emily’s small fists were clenched and her posture defiant. The girl was not taking it well.

“But most of all, hear him out when he calls for mildness, for a gentler judgement or a kinder route of action. I need you to promise me this, Emily. I know, you won’t like Mandus nor what I ask of you… but please, promise me this.”

The girl shook her head, looking down at her feet.

“Promise me, so I can rest in peace, Emily. So I can join your mother’s side without shame, so that she won’t send me away for having abandoned her daughter. I can face death, Emily. But I can’t face the thought, that I’m dying for naught.”

“Fine,” hissed Emily and turned on her heel. There were tears in her eyes. “Fine! Leave me! You leave me as everyone does and then make me promise…”

The girl was pacing back and forth, breathing fast, before stopping before the table and sweeping dishes to the floor.

“I hate you!” screamed the girl at Mandus. “You found him, you could have brought Corvo back! You killed him! We’d have found a cure, we’d have saved him! He could have… Corvo would have…”

A sob interrupted the tirade, and once the floodgates opened, the tears could not be stopped. Emily turned around, her shoulders trembling, and made a few steps before losing posture. The small Empress curled up on the floor, shaken by sobs.

Mandus leaned back and looked through the windows, to witness the raging storm outside. Flashes of lightning illuminated the night. He could muster some sympathy for the little girl, but he could not console her. Her guardian was gone, replaced with a pig. The Empress was all alone now, and no one would come to rescue her again.

A bitter fate. One only had to hope, that it wouldn’t break her.

Without thinking, Mandus caressed his children again. Their flesh was tender and cold.

“She won’t break./She won’t break.”

***

23th Month of Seeds. Two days after the crowning of the Empress.

_“Conspiracy unveiled - Spymaster’s mad plan to eradicate Undesirables and the terrible Origin of the Plague!”_

_“Long Live the Empress! The days of Horror near its End.”_

_“Dunwall in Child’s hands - Folly or our last Chance?”_

The days come and go, and newspaper headlines flutter like the ripped off calendar sheets, torn away by the winds of time.

_“Morley recedes from the Isles - Shame for the Empress!”_

_“Weakened by Parliament strife, Empress struggles to hold her Throne!”_

_“Assassination foiled - Empress unharmed & Conspirators exiled.” _

Another year, another winter endured in the pit of snakes.

_“Worker’s revolt - Industrial Leaders call for Harsh Response!”_

_“Miraculous resolution - Empress walks among the Strikers.”_

_“Hard-won Peace or another Capitulation? Empress beckons for new Laws and Worker Rights.”_

_“Weakness of the Empress - Poison for the State and Economy!”_

Time flows, time flies. The girl has become an Empress, in body and spirit. Her spine is a little straighter, her eyes a little colder and just like that, the people find bowing to her much easier task than before. Snakes, all of them, but snakes that are afraid to bite.

***

“Emily Kadwin, the Empress of the Isles welcomes her citizens and servants to the court!” announced the ceremony master. Soft murmur set upon the crowd of nobles, industry owners and intellectuals, as they followed the ceremony master inside. The word choice of “citizens and servants” had offended some nobles last season - but time changes and so do the moods.  Mandus consulted his children who reassured him that there was no hidden dissent hiding beneath the calm demeanors.

The people slowly dispersed inside the throne room. Quiet conversation took place in the corners, but was quickly when the ceremony master coughed and loudly proclaimed.

“May the audience begin! The honored guests and supplicants have now the opportunity to state their case before the Empress.” The ceremony master allowed himself a pause. “Farin Telmont may approach the Empress.”

Mandus saw the crowd shift in the opposite corner of the room and people step aside, to expose a flustered young man. Slowly he stepped forward and bowed in the direction of the Empress.

“Your Majesty, I fear there is a mistake. I did not place a request to speak and have no intention to worry you with my matters.”

“Regardless, master Telmont,” said a sweet girlish voice. “Approach my throne. Your matters do worry me regardless of intent.”

As the young man walked woodenly over to the throne and titled his head in a barest hint of a bow. In other times, his attitude could be seen as an insult and affront to the Empress, but Telmont was obviously shocked and his limbs snared with fear. The crowd was thrilled, smelling the aroma of blood. Nothing entertained them more than seeing someone fall.

“How fare your holdings in Upper Gristol?” asked Emily Kaldwin.

“Everything is well, your Majesty,” quickly responded Telmont. “Most kind of you to ask.”

“What about your copper mines?” said Kaldwin, leaning her head to the left.

“I… I have heard of nothing new. New shipments arrive in two months.”

Sweat appeared on Telmont’s face. The concern the Empress showed for the common workers was well known and she had before expressed stark disapproval for mines with high fatalities. Only three weeks ago, the Baroness of Dornhold had her silver mine confiscated due to dozens of children perishing and being disposed in a quick mountain stream.

“Is that so? I am glad to hear. By the way, is all well with your family? You and your brother appear so rarely at my court.”

“My family prefers solitary lifestyle. As for my brother… he is… we are on good terms,” awkwardly finished Telmont. He was perplexed and tried to remain neutral. Most likely he thought that the Empress expected him to throw his brother to the wolves. Blame on him some wrongdoing, which he still failed to recognize in Kaldwin’s vague inquiries.

Emily Kaldwin smiled and clapped two times. Telmont faintly twitched in response to the unexpected loud noise. Quiet servants brought in a large silver plate, a bell covering whatever was lying on it.

Mandus’ hand sneaked under his vest and touched the beating hearts.

“The joke is not funny./The joke is almost sad.”

“But it’s told for a reason,” murmured Mandus. He knew the punchline and what would like under the silver bell.

“Telmont, I have called you to present you this gift. I expect you cherish this gift as much as you cherish my rule.”

The young man half bowed, warily eyeing the silver plate. With a wave of a hand, the Empress beckoned the servants to lift the bell. Then a wave of gasps and whispers came over the  crowd. Telmont looked ill, staring at the human arm lying on the plate.

“What is the meaning of this?” blurted out Telmont. “What is…”

Telmont stopped talking, covering his mouth with his wrist, to prevent himself from retching.

“This,” said Emily Kaldwin calmly, “is an assassin’s arm. I give it to you for safekeeping.”

Realization flashed in Telmont’s eyes.

“You think I send an assassin, your Highness? This is impossible! Preposterous, I never…”

“I know,” said Kaldwin evenly. “The assassin was not sent by you. Regardless, there is no more fitting person to receive this object, considering that the arm belonged to your own brother.”

Now Telmon grew white as porcelain. His gaze was drawn to the ring on the arm - the ring with the seal of his house.

“I see,” said Telmont flatly. Then, he fell to his knees, unaware of what was happening around him. The Royal Protector next to Empress had subtly tensed at the motion, but quickly relaxed, seeing that the man was no danger.

“I hold no grudge against your house,” said the Empress. “Regardless, a reminder is in order. You will put the arm in your house and preserve it in formalin, as it’s currently done with animals in the Museum of Natural Philosophy. History must be preserved and remembered for it's the only thing that distinguishes us from animals.”

“You may retreat now,” said Kaldwin. A servant hurried to help Telmont up and guided him outside. The servants carried out the the silver plate after him.

“Now, to other matters,” said the Empress. “Galdwin, please proceed with the list.”

The ceremony master rasped his throat and called out the name of the first supplicant. The rest of the session went as normal and if some of the crowd was unnerved - or in opposite, disappointed by the quick and bloodless punishment -, then it did not affect the ones seeking the Empress attention. After all, assassinations were common happenstance. There were alone four public assassination attempts in the last three years, and a significantly higher number of which the public was unaware.

The attack of Ramon Telmont had happened in private and Mandus had found out about it through an accident. Emily Kaldwin had shunned his presence in the recent months, and so Mandus decided to seek her out to talk in a place where they could be alone. A talented musician was invited to play the harp near the balcony that looked out to the sea. Emily was smiling at her music, which was a rare sight.

Ramon had scaled the cliffs and slipped into the balcony. When he appeared in the room, at first nobody seemed to notice him. Only when the noble was three steps away from the Empress, did Royal Protector warily step in his way. Ramon was unexpected, but nobles frequently wandered into areas that they were prohibited from.

Of course, the bodyguard knew that it was not the case. The woman had perked when she heard the steps on the balcony and put her hand on the blade as soon as the noble entered. Billie Lurk did not need more than a passing glance to recognize a wannabe assassin. Other people, though, needed more. Killing assassins that had not yet announced themselves as such was frowned upon in polite company.

Ramon had seen the Royal Protector many times, silently standing behind the Empress. In this darkened room, though, it was as if he saw her for the first time and recognized the bared fangs of a deadly animal. This was no groomed bodyguard, trained in brightly lit rooms and clean courtyards. Billie Lurk played in childhood not with dolls, but with death - and had won against it. This Ramon suddenly knew and broke out in cold sweat.

All thoughts about maintaining the facade were gone, it was either fight or flight. Ramon chose the first and therefore chose wrong. Without thinking, the man lunged at the Empress and gave Billie all the excuse she needed. Lurk cut off the arm immediately, then kicked him away from the Empress. Due to the strength of the kick, Ramon stumbled for a few steps and fell over the balcony.

The ordeal was over in mere seconds. The musician screamed and jumped up from her chair. The Royal Protector returned to her charge and sat down on hunches before Emily. The girl was white and her hands were clutching a brooch on her chest. When Lurk had raised a hand to put it on the Emily’s shoulder, Emily unfroze and quickly slapped it away. Kaldwin may have chosen Lurk as her Royal Protector, but there was no love lost between them. Emily remembered too well, who assisted her mother’s murder. She’d would never accept consolation from Lurk.

And so the Empress stood up, ordered the hand taken away and the room to be cleaned, and rushed out. Doubtlessly, to hide in her room and be alone for a while, before she would again venture out and assume the role of the Empress again.

Mandus had to admire how well she played that role. Looking at Emily Kaldwin and mature demeanor, one almost forgot she was just thirteen. She had teachers that worked on erasing all girlish mannerisms, that taught her to proudly raise her chin and how to coldly pierce someone with a gaze. The graceful position of her hands was the result of many hours of work.

I’m being trained like a horse, had howled Emily once, bursting into tears and refusing to participate in the lessons for a week. Of course, it was terrible to be forced to control everything about yourself, from how you laugh to how you pick up a teacup. But the nobles had to see an Empress instead of a girl, and so the girl had to learn to become invisible.

Over time, Emily Kaldwin had to learn to control her emotions in public, to learn a few studied responses and to stay silent as much as it was possible. The less she said, the smarter the girl looked and her every word would be a cryptic puzzle for the nobility to untangle.

Was the Empress lonely? Doubtless. Enoch and Edwin had told Mandus that a stray cat came by Emily’s window every couple days and that she loved that pet a lot. There were a few servants in the castle of her age, whom Emily dearly wished to befriend, but she knew that it was impossible. Maybe later, when she grew older there would be time and the luxury of trust...

For now, the Empress had to focus on fighting the battles of state. She was good at it, especially for a child. Just now the arrogant Lady Weinar retreated half-bowed from the Empress, a pleased smile playing on her face. The deal that Kaldwin offered was not as good as it looked, but Lady Weiner believed herself to be the winner. From these things allies were forged and Emily Kaldwin was in great need of allies.

The Royal Protector stood to the left of the throne, where once Mandus been standing. Billie Lurk struck an impressive figure, even with her left arm ending in a stump. Many people shook their heads over Emily’s decision to assign someone as her Royal Protector, who was a woman, a cripple and a foreigner at the same. Lurk was unbothered by the gossip, but it was necessary to quiet the doubting voices in order to save Emily’s face.

Week after week, Lurk publicly fought and defeated several men at once in the courtyard, never missing a step or breaking a sweat. Eventually, the gossip stopped targeting her supposedly lacking combat skills and began focusing on her untrustworthiness, shady origins and lack of noble blood. Granted, the same things people criticized about Mandus as well, back when he was the Royal Advisor.

In the past years, Mandus had followed Emily everywhere and she had begrudgingly listened to his advice and calls for moderation. The war with Morley was prevented due to his influence, and even though much of Gristol saw it as a weakness of the small girlish Empress, it was a worthy sacrifice considering the countless lives saved.

Mandus had been far more useful to Emily than he himself had anticipated. His children’s whispers allowed him to peek behind the facade of many people and uncover their secrets - secrets which could be used to manipulate people into doing your wanting. Often enough, Mandus used it to sort out the allies from obvious traitors and to shield Emily from the worst snakes at court..

Therefore Mandus was not exaggerating, when saying that he was Emily Kaldwin’s most useful advisor. Not the most trusted nor most liked, but one that has tremendously assisted her reign.

But his usefulness was waning. The court nobility was wary of Mandus, the man who saw right through people as if they were glass. Even worse, some began muttering about the Outsider’s influence - did Mandus not sometimes talk to himself? What kept Mandus under his vest which he had to compulsively check every moment? Was there nothing odd about this man with an obscured past? Did he not send shivers through righteous folks with his cold eyes and cruel hands?

It may have been for the best that the Empress distanced herself from Mandus. This was not the reason for her decision, but it may have factored in. About a year ago, Emily had successfully mediated the conflict between the workers and ‘industrial leaders’ and as result she had grown bolder. From now on, she consulted the experts, the nobles and her confidants, but in the end would come to her own decision. As the final touch, Mandus was dismissed from his position the Royal Advisor to make the change official.

It worked for now. Emily cherry picked the options presented to her and fashioned them into something that would pass as her own idea. It was all a big bluff, but so were most things in politics. Mandus was almost proud of her.

But what is pride but a hollow trinket in a dead man’s grave? Mandus had no use for pride. He was tired and when his children complained about the endless cold, he knew what they were talking about. The same chill settled in his bones and kept him up at night.

A bell announced the evening hour. The Empress heard out the last supplicant and the ceremony master concluded the audience session. The crowd was ushered out, but Mandus stayed. Shadows had a habit of clinging to Mandus's figure and, as many times before, the guards just failed notice his presence.

For that reason Mandus was able to trail the Empress without anyone stopping him. He was not hiding, but not drawing attention to himself either - it would be better to have this conversation where fewer ears were present.

In a side corridor on the eastern side, where windows let in the last rays of the setting sun, Mandus rasped his throat and spoke up:

“Your Highness. I need to speak with you.”

The girl whirled around, the surprise quickly changing to disdain with a hint of anger. Lurk reacted calmer - most likely she had known about him following from the start.  

“Mandus!” said Emily with reproach. Then she pulled up herself, and gave her best Empress impression: “I do not recall giving you the permission to approach me nor talk to me.”

Mandus almost laughed.

“Permission? Since when do I need permission?”

“Since you are no longer the Royal Advisor,” said Emily. “Oswald Mandus, you cling to privileges that aren’t yours anymore. If you wish to discuss matters, you will have to place an official request with which I will deal with on my own time…”

“That shall not be needed. I merely came to bid you farewell.”

Emily blinked.

“You can’t do that.”

The irony of Kaldwin denying his right to leave, when a mere minute ago she warned him to stay away from her, was not lost on Mandus. Yet he derived no pleasure from it and found no humour in it - he was utterly indifferent to Emily’s reaction. This was a duty to be carried out, nothing more.

“I am leaving, Emily Kaldwin,” said Mandus and bowed. “May your reign be long and as peaceful as it is prosperous.”

“No, wait!” said Emily and held out as if trying to grab but, thinking otherwise in the last moment. “How can you just leave? You’re not done yet! There is so much work left…”

“Especially if I stay and keep interfering with court matters. But in truth, this work was cut for you, not for me. You don’t need me any longer, your Highness.”

Emily looked at Mandus with something close to desperation.

“Corvo told you to stay, didn't he? So stay!”

“Corvo Attano,” said Mandus, “did no such thing. We agreed on a fair exchange, a bargain whose side I have now fulfilled. You are the Empress, armed with power and protected from harm.” Mandus’s eyes hushed to Billie. “I cannot do anymore than this.”

Emily opened her mouth to argue against which Mandus cut off. He had no interest in dragging out this conversation any longer.

“Corvo would be satisfied with my work, as he would be with who you’ve become. Enough is enough. I will not spend my entire life in your service as it was never the plan. I am going, your Highness, and it's not something you can change.

Emily opened her mouth and then closed it.

“Then go!” finally she said and strode away. Lurk followed her, but not before throwing a long glance at Mandus. Was the bodyguard disapproving of his decision? Frankly, Mandus did not care, as much as he didn’t care for Emily’s glistening eyes and hurt outburst.

Emily did not truly care for Mandus either. To her, Mandus was just a relic that Corvo left behind, a final link that was now broken.

Mandus caressed the hearts in his vest, and then, following an impulse, took out the hearts and kissed the cold flesh. It was time to lay the dead to rest.

***

Lately Mandus had hit a slump. The first year at the court had been an endless parade of horrible dangers and unpleasant surprises, every day was a challenge to be overcome. Nothing could have prepared Mandus for the last months, though - the boredom, the repetition, the same small games that nobles played out over and over again.

Mandus felt like peeling off his skin and bleeding all over the fucking carpets, showing up to festive gathering and retching blood all over the fancy noble clothes. It was harder and harder to hide his hatred for all mankind. His children’s voices helped Mandus to control his temper, yet the last months were still a torture.

Soon, it would be over. Mandus did not need to pack many things, but there were preparations to be made, letters to be written and incriminating evidence to be left behind. Through the black market and the hands of ancient old women, Mandus acquired cryptic books, whalebone charms and rat tails. The main stash was hidden below the floorboards. Mandus had carved in scratches and made sure that the Overseers would be able find it.

He tore out several pages with mysterious drawings from the ancient books and crumpled them, to leave it under the desk, dropped a rat tail here and there, muddied the window glass with ash and spilled a few drops of blood on the bed. It was subtle but more than enough to declare him a heretic.

Standing barefoot in the middle of the room, looking over his work, Mandus felt like bursting into laughter. What a delightful prank to play on yourself! That bastard had it coming, after all. Who more deserved to be hunted by Overseers than Mandus himself?

Mandus was almost done with marveling at his ingenuity, when something dark flashed outside and when the window quietly swung open. With a raised brow, Lurk climbed inside and slowly swept her gaze across the room.

It was an unpleasant surprise, though one should have seen coming. Mandus remembered with discomfort that he was barefoot and turned away from Lurk to find his shoes and put them on. If it was interpreted as ignoring his guest, then so be it. One could afford to be rude to a person that came through his window without announcement.

“Mandus,” said Billie.

“Lurk,” said Mandus, having tied his shoes and now rising to full height. “To what do I owe this visit? Is there something wrong with my door, that you decided to opt for the window instead?”

Instead of an answer, Lurk just looked around the room and the artful chaos Mandus has created.

“Less chance to be seen if I enter through the window. Since you leave tonight, that seemed appropriate.” Lurk turned her back on Mandus to pick up a crumpled paper from underneath the chair. She looked curious and as nonchalant as a cat, absolutely uninterested that she was ruffling the possessions of another person.

Of course, Lurk knew Mandus and could guess his true nature. They both knew each other in the same way that two radically different species of predators recognize each other. Lurk knew she could not offend Mandus even if she tried, and that she could afford to annoy him as much as she liked.

Lurk unfolded the piece of paper and once she recognized the drawing of a autopsied fetus, undid her grasp and let it float to the floor.

“A question, Mandus. What is the point of all this? I doubt the Empress would appreciate you leading Overseers to her doorsteps as a last farewell gift.”

“That’s hardly my intention. I have already fallen out of her favour and therefore it will be an easy thing to discard me entirely, burn my reputation, blame every misstep on me and for her to triumphantly emerge from the clutches of a failed manipulator,” Mandus spoke it casually, picking up the clothes from his wardrobe that would be fitting for a journey.

“And yet you chose not to inform the Empress of your plan…?”

“She wouldn’t agree to it, but regardless, it must be done. I do intend to warn and prepare her. In fact, I am doing so now.” Mandus pulled a letter from his pocket and stretched it out to Lurk. “Give it to her. It explains many things… as many as I can afford to explain, anyway.

Lurk accepted the letter without visible distaste, but still in a way that reminded Mandus of a person accepting a dead mouse from their cat.

“Second question, Mandus,” said Lurk. “Why do you lack half of your toes on your feet?”

It was too much to hope that the former assassin wouldn’t notice it upon coming in. Mandus considered lying - framing it as an industrial accident or blaming a sickness that made his toes rot and fall off one by one - but he doubted that a person perceptive as Lurk would miss that the injuries were recent and caused by a sharp blade and deliberate action.

Therefore, it had to be the truth. Some part of the truth.

“Same reason I am leaving. I’m paying debts.”

Lurk stared at him under half closed lids.

“Rest assured,” said Mandus, “the Overseers will not find my body. They will find nothing. Therefore Emily does not have to fear to put me at risk. I’m risking nothing at all and will be laughing at them from my grave. Not as if I expect a burial, anyway...”

“You are rambling, old man.”

“I am. But this is about the answer I can give you. So please, climb out the window, let me pack my things and then depart as suspiciously and noticeably as I can. I would prefer if you were with Emily by then.”

Shaking her head, Lurk climbed into the window frame and said quietly:

“There was always something rotten about you.”

And then she left.

Mandus wiped the footprints of the window still, crumpled again the paper that Lurk had unfolded and threw it under the desk. Then Mandus put his pocket watch into the pocket, looked around and decided it was time. He took the strongbox, inside which were beating the hearts of his children, and left the home that had never felt as such.

***

Emily Kaldwin,

I chose the form of address not out of disrespect, but because this letter is not meant for the Empress. After all, I had promised to take care of Emily and nobody else. Even if you had failed to climb the throne, I would have dedicated years to ensure your safekeeping and a long, if not happy life.

I say “dedicate years”, but not “dedicate a lifetime”. The second flows easier of the tongue and is a far more grander gesture, but that is not what I had agreed to. Corvo had easily conceded to this condition of our contract: I would die in three years’ time.

The grave calls for me - not just calls, but howls and screams and  demands to join the maggots in their eternal feast. There is no other person in Dunwall that deserves as much to die as I do - and I say it with a matter of faint pride, with buried laughter that I struggle to keep imprisoned. The horrors of the Plague would pale in comparison to what I had done.

Therefore, no misguided pity. Butcher my corpse and throw it to the Overseers. They will find enough material in my chambers to accuse me of hereticism and worse. Take the opportunity to destroy me publicly and to eliminate all political enemies that had stood too close to me. You will know how to exploit the situation better than me.

Finally, I depart with an easy heart. The play comes to an end and I cherish the silence that will follow. I fulfilled my duty and what Corvo had feared the most, had not come to pass. Dunwall still stands. The Empress still lives. You are only as cruel as you need to be to survive, and as kind as you can afford to be.

All in all, this was the best outcome we could have hoped for.

Burn this letter, eat it or feed it to Lurk - I don’t care how you do it, but dispose of it immediately. The Overseers cannot know any of this. Neither can anyone else.

With humble regards and with endless relief to rot in a grave,

Oswald Mandus

***

By the end of the journey, the smell of sea air made Mandus want to vomit. He did not have to spend long on a boat - merely a night and a whole day until they reached their destination -, but a nervous energy took hold of Mandus. He abandoned his cabin to pace the wooden planks and with impatience stare at the oblivious sea.

The old sailor did not speak to him. That was something that Mandus valued highly about him. Mandus knew that Samuel liked neither him, nor Corvo, but still kept his promise to both. In many ways, he was a far more crucial to saving Dunwall than anyone in the city knew.

It was Samuel that had ferried Mandus over to the isle where Emily had been kept prisoner. It was him as well that had taken Mandus to the island for the monthly sacrifices. It was their last journey together and this time Samuel would go home alone.

A heavy fog lay on the sea. Mandus thought this unusual, but what did an amateur like him know about the sea? Samuel did not worry, by the looks of him.

Mandus found himself staring at the dense mist, waiting for something great to come up from below and carelessly destroy their small vessel. He pictured the same whale he had seen before, the one with the eyes as black as the void.

This night Mandus had woken up with a start and felt the need to escape the cabin and its stale air. It was cold outside, especially since Mandus was half-dressed. His skin was itching and he felt like diving over the board just to get away from himself.

In the dark silence, without a living soul in sight, Mandus had realized that this was maybe the last time he’d get to see the stars. Not as if he cared for the stars, but the realization that there wouldn’t be anymore of those stupid sparkling things reawakened the greed in him. Mandus sat down on some nets and stared at the stars, trying to strip bare the skies with his stare and to take some of the treasures with him to death.

Mandus was not wholly sure whether he dreamed it or not, but after some time he had heard a great splash. When he stood up, he saw a great glistening monstrosity rise up among the waves. For the first moments, Mandus had no name for this horror that emerged from the depths - but then he saw the great eye staring at him from the side and knew that it was just a whale. Flapping his big fin, the beast bid farewell and disappeared where it came from.

Many old people that Mandus met hated to feel surprised, equating it with being dumbfounded. They regarded everything new with suspicion and felt that the world was making fun of them for it. How dare the world change the rules! How dare the world make up something new! Was their hard-won experience useless now, their wisdom out of date? What a terrifying thought.

Mandus was not old physically, but mentally. Only when his children were born, did they give him back the ability to delight in surprise, to feel joy at uncovering new stories and facts about the world. For that reason Mandus wanted to fetch his children’s hearts and to tell them about the whale - and through them feel something, that he could not summon on his own.

But Mandus was tired. He knew that he and his children would soon die and so would the stories they told each other. For that reason Mandus went to bed, defeated, and forgot all the stars he had tried to memorize.

It was not joy that drove Mandus. Only duty and the promise of rest. It scared him, of course. Death scared Mandus. But then again, it was the only thing he was capable of looking forward to.

When a bird landed on the wooden railing and squawked, Mandus had twitched in surprise. It was one of the witch birds. A macabre black thing with a huge beak and oddly long feathers on its tail. The bird was not native to this land… as neither were the witches.

Samuel had rolled up the sails and carefully navigated among the rocks, that protruded among the sea. The vague shape of large cliff was looming above them, and the Mandus saw land. Three witches stood on the shore, waiting for them.

All of them were tall and thin, their dark skin making the grey clothes seem almost white. Their posture and the look on their faces beckoned awe.

Mandus told Samuel to stop, that he did not have to land on shore and jumped from ship into the water. It was ice-cold and ran up to his waist. Mandus waded to the shore, half-bowed before the witches and then waved at Samuel as a sign of dismissal and of goodbye. Samuel stood on the bow for a few moments longer than usual, his pock-marked face looking slack and mournful, and then the sailor turned away to prepare the ship for the journey back.

The witches did not greet Mandus, as they never did, and went back to their caves expecting Mandus to follow. One could almost think that the witches were deaf in addition to being blind, but Mandus knew that they talked among each other and even laughed at jokes sometimes. It was just that they did not think Mandus worthy of their address.

His children told him that the witches came from a continent far away, which Mandus guessed to be Pandyssia. They were fleeing a famine or war, his children were vague, but the sea was not much gentler to them than their homeland. The winds led the boats astray and the only thing that could help them was a great sacrifice.

The women on the ships had mutilated their eyes to gain sight, and together they found the route to land and refuge for their people. From a small fleet, there were left only a handful of boats. The survivors lives on desolate isles in wretched conditions, but they were alive and proud, and even capable of feeling joy.

This small isle was only meant to house the witches. The men, the rest of the women and their children most likely lived nearby. This Mandus guessed from what happened when he first came to this shore. The children led him to this island, knowing that the people here could help them, but the secretive and wary witches were less than happy to see a foreigner intrude on a land. Mandus tried to explain that his intentions were peaceful, but was regardless bound and blindfolded and led in a cave where he was held captive for days.

A heated argument had erupted over Mandus’s presence, one that involved male as well female voices. Doubtlessly, the witches felt the darkness and blood that clung to him and the men did not seem to argue for keeping him alive either - but Enoch’s and Edwin’s hearts gave them both pause. They could not talk to his children directly, but the witches saw something that made them hesitate.

In the end, Mandus was unfolded, unbound and allowed to explain himself. With the lack of a common language between them, Mandus was forced to resort to drawing pictures and describing the events through pantomime. Mandus told his story, the seeing women and men saw the pictures and eventually figured out what Mandus’ helpless flailing meant, and retold in turn the story to the witches.

The process was slow and Mandus had to tell the story many times, before they understood everything. He focused on the simple things; the peaceful house and his beloved children, the rats and the Plague, the Machine and the vision of the new world. Then came the story of the pigs - a story which had greatly infuriated the witches -, but Mandus continued his story with great agitation. He told about the death-faced man who brought him the hearts of his children and made him destroy the Machine and foil it’s terrible majestic plan.

Only then, when the witches had understood and digested his story, did Mandus finally place his request. He drew a picture of a man-pig and an arrow that pointed towards regular human being. Then he crossed out the man-pig, leaving only the human behind.

Mandus was always amazed how the witches managed to glare at him without any eyes. They thought him a stupid, wicked man and Mandus knew it. They must think him a daft bastard that tries to seek out redemption the easy and cheap way. But this was not about assuaging guilt - Mandus struggled with feeling guilty as much as he struggled with feeling joy.

But he _owed_ this to the man-pigs and he owed it to his children. Like death announces itself with a heavy bell, duty made Mandus come to this island and ask for the impossible: to undo what he had done, to return the man-pigs to who they once were.

One of the older witches, a shrivelled boney scarecrow, had taken the stick from his hands and drawn a man. For a blind woman, the drawings was very accurate and Mandus knew that the drawing portrayed him. Below his image, the witch continued to draw many little man-pigs.

Then the hag bowed down, and swept away the earth, so that the Mandus drawing lost an arm. Then she crossed out a man-pig. She swept away his second arm and crossed out another man-pig. Mandus lost his legs as next, then the ears and the eyes, until the witch erased the whole drawing and crossed out the final man-pig.

As he watched the witch, blood rushed to Mandus’ ears. He felt stunned and deafened by his own heartbeat. It was impossible to speak for a while, but then eventually the release came: Mandus laughed.

Mandus laughed and laughed until tears came to his eyes. His laughter must have been heard everywhere on the isles, gotten lost in the caves and an echo of it must probably still wander inside those caves. Mandus fell to his knees and kissed the hands and the feet of that old ugly crone. Finally, he believed that it was possible! There was never a chance for the man-pigs to be turned back by pretty flowers and dancing in moonlight - blood and pain was needed to undo what was born in death and misery.

And so Mandus finally believed, that it could be done. He’d be able to fulfill his duty and to be forgiven by his children and then to finally die.

Mandus had come here to finish it.

***

Cutting off a finger, even sawing off an entire arm did not take much time. An hour at the very best, including preparations. But still, the process took time. The injury had to be cauterized, someone had to brew herbs to strengthen Mandus and to keep him alive for a while longer.

But the most time-consuming part was the ritual itself. The witches were cooking his body parts in a pot and singing songs, then they separated the flesh from the bones and whispered spells, then grinded the bones into dust, then leeched Mandus for blood and added it to the final brew, which would be given to the man-pigs.

The days melded into one another. Mandus was unconscious more time than not, forced himself to eat and drink anything the witches offered and failed to remember a time when anything but pain existed in the world.

The nightmare smelled of earth and blood, and Mandus only survived it due to his children. When his both arms were gone, Mandus had suddenly realized that he could no longer easily touch the hearts and began weeping without consolation. He had frantically left the bed and pressed his forehead against the cold hearts, to be able to listen to their whispers.

The witches  eased his despair by weaving a basket out of twine and bark, which one could hang over one’s neck. Inside they placed the hearts of his children so they hung over Mandus’ breast. Now they would never be separated again.

***

One nameless night, Mandus felt a calling. Unsteady, Mandus stood up from his bloodied lodgings. Even this simple act was unexpectedly hard without arms to stem him.

“Careful, Daddy./Careful, Daddy.”

“I am,” said Mandus, “I am.”

Despite the weakness in his legs, Mandus left the alcove and entered the main corridor. The witches had worked on these caves, put carpets and hung beads to separate each “room” from each other.

Mandus heard voices in the distance, the crackling of fire and wood dragged along the floor. These sounds made him feel how a beggar feels, looking into somebody else’s brightly lit home through a window. He too once had a home and loved ones. But now there was just a ruined monster left, carrying the corpses of his children.

“Edwin, Enoch,” said Mandus, closing his eyes.  “I need to see them. Please, lead me.”

And so his children lead him through the maze of a cave, warned him of low ceilings or sharp drops. The cave grew colder and darker around him, until light appeared ahead and Mandus heard the pig squeals.

For a moment, Mandus was back in time. This was not the cave walls pressing down on him, but the metal corridors of his own making. He heard the heartbeat of the Machine, the hissing of the valves and the clanging of steel.

Mandus realized that he had stopped and that he was shivering with his whole body.

“Daddy, it’s alright./Daddy, we can go./You don’t have to look./You don’t have to look.”

I have to, thought Mandus. He approached the light and could distinguish the shape of the pens. Inside were the man-pigs - sleeping, playing with twigs and sloppily drinking water.

Tears burned in Mandus’s eyes.

“My children,” whispered Mandus. “My children.”

What welled up in his heart was not what had expected. He expected anything, guilt, hatred or disgust. Disgust for himself and for the ugliness of the pigs, the common sin that united all mankind and made them deserving of eternal suffering!

Mandus did not understand, how after all this, after everything, he could feel love. His heart was made for hatred, hardened in poison and flames! Did it forget the pain that was inflicted upon it? How could the heart possibly feel love, burst from love, sing from love...

“My children,” said Mandus and wept. He did not have hands to wipe away the tears and he was blinded by them. If he could have, he’d have opened the pens and entered them to embrace them. Even if the man-pigs killed him, it would not have changed anything.

“Daddy/Daddy,” said his children. “The pigs sing./The pigs sing./Sing with them./Sing with them.”

Shaking with tears, Mandus sang and the song carried him through the nightmare.

***

The pain, the signing, the pain, the blood, the phantom pain and the silence. Mandus laid for an entire night, trying to stand up, and only in the morning remembered that the legs had been gone for a long time.

The fever had grasped him. He was first cold and then hot, then cold again. It was hard to focus on the whispers of his children. Mandus talked to his wife, entertained guests in the salon and chastised Emily. Lucidity came rarely, often only for a few moments. Mandus would remember where he was and what was happening - and then the fever dream swept him away in its clinging embrace.

Therefore when Mandus regained clarity, it came as a shock. From one moment to another, Mandus perfectly knew where he was and what time it was. He looked around and saw three witches stand around him. Their clothes were black.

One of the witches raised Mandus’ head to take away the hanging basket. His unease was soon remedied, as the witch freed the hearts from its cage and put them on Mandus’s chest. Another witch took a blade from her clothes and raised it with both hands, as if making an offering.

“Yes,” tried to say Mandus, but realized that his tongue was gone. He gasped for air like a fish and then energetically shook his head.

The witches coolly regarded him, withdrawing slightly.

Mandus took a deep breath and tried to calm his frantic heartbeat.

“Edwin, Enoch?” thought Mandus.

“Yes, Daddy?/Yes, Daddy?”

“I love you.”

“We love you. too./We love you, too.”

“Good night, Edwin. Good night, Enoch.”

“Good night, Daddy./Good night, Daddy.”

Tears welled up in Mandus’s eyes and he nodded at the witches. The woman raised the blade, fixed the hearts of the children with the other and then descended the blade.

Mandus feared that the strike would be inaccurate, that the blade would be caught in the metal and make his children suffer, or that the blade would need a second blow to reach his own heart. But the blade was sharp and the witch was strong. The steel cut deeper and deeper, Mandus heard the gasps of his children and then he gasped himself.

Pain is pain, but in the last moments Mandus thought that the injury was different, that it was opening a gate. That the penetrated heart was leaving something open, allowing him to slip through and to walk away with his children hand in hand.

Oswald Mandus grew slack and his eyes lost focus, and even if he and his children did not go together through death’s gates, nobody would be able to convince him otherwise.

***

Nobody felt Oswald Mandus’s parting. The former assassin Daud would struggle to remember the face of the Corvo's messenger and wouldn’t care to hear that he was dead. Billie Lurk would twist her mouth in something that was not quite a smirk and stay silent. The nobles and merchant friends of Oswald Mandus wouldn’t understand his death and neither would they mourn him, only remember with regret his marvelous feast which would never repeat again.

To Emily Kaldwin, Mandus had died the moment she read his parting letter. There was no indication that his suicide would take such a torturously long time and Emily had imagined him poisoned, drowned in the sea or having cut open his veins the same night he disappeared from the castle.

The morning that Mandus died, Emily woke up on her own. She opened the curtains and looked at the early day. Quietly, she dressed herself and left the room without waking the maids. The guards at the doors were startled by the Empress unexpected appearance, but she paid them attention.

Technically, she should have called for her Royal Protector. Emily still thought about it, as she walked through the empty corridors of her home. In the end, she decided against it. If Emily was going to die during a morning walk, then she could have died anytime else as well, choking on a cherry stone or slipping on handkerchief.

Therefore, Emily drove all thoughts of death from her mind. Ironically, the place where she went to be alone was the pavilion where her mother was assassinated.

The blood was long time ago washed from the marble, and a golden plate marked her mother’s passing. Emily had first come here to weep, but now she came here to be alone. Everyone needs a place where they can stop pretending. Mother had a place like this too, the secret room in her chambers that Emily discovered in the first year of her reign.

Emily had thought of making that place her own, but in the end felt like intruding or even worse - eradicating the last remnants and reminders of who Jessamine Kaldwin really was - not just the Empress, but a person who once loved and was loved in return. Therefore Emily decided to make a different place her own.

Sometimes, it was horrible to be so alone. Emily sometimes felt as if she was a shipwrecked survivor, clinging to a wooden board. No matter how much you shouted or cried, nobody would hear or come to rescue you. Sometimes Emily felt that her energy was waning, that her grip around the wooden board was growing weaker and soon her clothes would pull the body underwater.

But over time, Emily found the shore and learned to value the solace of being alone. Loneliness could make you miserable, but you could also find peaceful joy in it. This morning, Emily found the latter.

The flowers were touched by spring and even if they were not in full bloom, they were still beautiful to Emily. The colours of the sunrise were tender and sweet. The air smelled like change and even as Emily knew better, she smiled and allowed herself to feel a little hope.

Maybe, this year will be better. Maybe, the people will complain less and celebrate more. Maybe she’ll find someone to trust. Maybe, she’ll adopt the stray cat and name her something outrageous, something that will make the nobles fume and shake their heads.

Emily smiled. Maybe Corvo and Jessamine knew that she was happy, at least a little. Maybe they would be proud of her. If anyone would come back as ghosts, then it would be them.

Therefore, Emily pictured Corvo and Jessamine standing behind her, as close as they could without touching. They’d see and smell and hear what she saw - the tender green of spring, the bells that came to life and announced the breaking day and the cold gust of wind, that brought an unexpected sweetness.

For a moment, they were alive with her. Then, the illusion was gone.

Somehow it did not make Emily sad. Like a gust of wind strengthens a flame, Emily’s hope was boldened and she stretched out her arms, as if pretending to fly. She quickly caught herself - an Empress playing like a child! -, but the silly grin did not leave her face.

They would not remember her as Emily the Wise, nor Emily the Cruel. Perhaps, they would not remember her at all. It was alright with her. Dunwall lived. Emily lived. The same world that took so much from her would one day be forced to give it all back.

Until then, Emily would wait and guard her heart. Until summer and love, trust and friends would come and set her free.


End file.
